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BURNS'    CLARINDA 

asrtef  papers  concerning  tbe  ipoet's 
IRenowneb  Correspondent 


COMPILED   FROM   VARIOUS   SOURCES   BY 

JOHN    D.    ROSS,    LL.D., 

Author  of  "  Scottish  Poets  in  America"  "Random  Sketches  on  Scottish  Subjects,' 

"  A  Cluster  of  Poets"  and  Editor  of'''  Celebrated  Songs  of  Scotland" 

"  Round  Bums' s  Grave"  "  Highland  Mary"  "All  About 

Burns"  "The  Bums  Scrap  Book"  "Centenary 

Bumsiana,"  "  Burnsiana,"  etc.  etc. 


"  It  is  no  idle  dream 
That  we  have  heard  a  voice  from  Heaven  : 
'  Behold  this  heart  hath  loved  much, 
And  much  to  it  shall  be  forgiven.' " 

— Agnes  Maule  M&chbs. 


•Rew  13orft: 

THE   RAEBURN   BOOK   COMPANY. 
1897. 


"  Nought  can  ever  be  unwelcome  to  Scottish  readers  which 
comes  so  near  to  the  heart  of  Robert  Burns  as  to  treat  of 
one  whose  grace  and  beauty  and  intellectual  superiority  evoked 
his  unqualified  admiration — one  who  loved  him  with  her  whole 
heart  and  soul,  and  was  the  heroine  of  at  least  two  of  the  most 
vivid  and  tenderly  passionate  lyrics  that  came  from  his  pen." 

—Robert  Ford. 


2)eDfcateD  to 

^j^  THE  OFFICERS   AND   MEMBERS  OF 

THE    EDINBURGH    BURNS    CLUB 

BY 

Sf  A  SCOT  ABROAD  WHO  IS  PROUD   OF   HIS  BEING  A 

NATIVE   OF  THEIR   ILLUSTRIOUS   CITY. 

JOHN  D.  ROSS. 


48S277  ,, 


PREFACE. 


One  of  the  most  pleasing  results  of  the  spread 
of  the  Burns  cult  is  the  painstaking  manner  in 
which  the  lives  and  characters  of  most  of  those 
who  had  any  influence  in  shaping  his  career 
have  been  investigated  and  made  clear  to  us. 
Even  the  lives  of  those  who  have  been  merely 
casually  mentioned  in  his  writings  have  been 
made  the  object  of  careful  study,  until  now  the 
student  of  the  poet's  earthly  journey,  and  of  the 
magnificent  legacy  he  bequeathed  to  Scotland 
and  the  world,  not  only  understands  what  manner 
of  man  he  was,  but  is  able  to  estimate  the 
value  to  him  of  his  mission  to  the  men — and 
the  women — with  whom  he  associated  in  all  the 
varied  phases  of  his  brief  but  memorable  career. 

As  a  result  of  all  this  scrutiny  and  investiga- 
tion, which  may  be  said  to  have  started  as  the 
echoes  of  the  birthday  centennial  of  1859  began 


viii  Preface. 

to  die  away,  we  know  much  better  than  Burns 
students  did  before  that  year  the  character  of 
the  people  to  whom  our  country's  poet  gave  his 
friendship,  his  respect,  his  admiration,  and  his 
love.  Some  have  suffered  in  the  fierce  light 
which  editors  and  commentators,  anxious  to 
present  to  the  world  something  new,  have 
brought  to  bear  upon  lives  which,  but  for  his 
eminence,  would  long  since  have  passed  into 
such  utter  forgetfulness  as  not  to  leave  even  a 
memory  behind.  We  do  not,  for  instance,  think 
so  pleasantly  now  of  William  Nicol  as  we  did 
when  we  simply  knew  him  as  the  brewer  of  that 
"peck  o'  maut"  which  still  enlivens  many  a 
brewing  all  over  the  world  ;  and  we  have  a 
higher  regard,  now  that  we  have  learned  more 
about  him,  for  the  memory  of  John  Wilson, 
Session  Clerk  of  Tarbolton  and  afterward  school- 
master in  Glasgow,  than  we  did  when  we  knew 
him  only  as  the  subject  of  that  merciless  satire, 
"  Death  and  Dr  Hornbook." 

So  too  with  the  women  who  were  his 
charmers,  his  friends,  his  advisers.  Year  by 
year  the  fitness  of  Bonnie  Jean  to  be  his 
life  companion  has  been  more  acknowledged, 
while  the  halo  of  romance  with  which  he  has 


Preface.  ix 

invested  her  memory  makes  her,  as  the  seasons 
roll,  take  a  higher  and  tenderer  place  in  our 
national  literature  as  an  inspirer  of  song,  a 
heroine  of  poetry.  So  too,  possibly  in  a  more 
marked  degree,  has  been  the  development  of  the 
reverence  for  the  memory  of  "  Highland  Mary," 
which  found  its  most  recent  public  expression  in 
the  statue  erected  last  year  at  Dunoon. 

The  present  volume  deals  with  another  of  the 
loves  of  Burns — the  hapless  Clarinda.  It  is  safe 
to  say  that  the  memory  of  this  gifted  but  un- 
fortunate woman  is  held  in  high  esteem  for  her 
genuine  worth  more  than  it  was  forty  years  ago. 
Then  it  was  clouded,  because  people  did  not 
understand,  did  not  have  the  means  of  under- 
standing, her  character,  her  career,  or  the  story 
of  her  innocent  intimacy  with  the  poet.  Since 
then  her  life-story  has  been  searched,  been 
weighed,  been  commented  on ;  the  closest 
scrutiny  has  been  bestowed  on  her  actions,  her 
words,  her  writings,  and  the  most  scalpel-like 
dissection  has  been  made  even  of  her  thoughts 
as  far  as  they  have  become  recoverable.  Out  of 
all  this  she  has  emerged  without  a  stain,  with 
the  early  cloud  rolled  away,  and  with,  as  her 
only  weakness,  an  acknowledged  love  for  the 
b 


X  Preface. 

poet  in  preference  for  the  heartless  scamp  who 
wrecked  her  life.  She  once  hoped  that  she 
might  in  time  be  united  to  the  poet,  but  she 
never  forgot  that  she  was  a  wedded  wife.  To 
her  faithless  husband  she  remained  loyal,  to  her 
children  she  was  a  model  mother,  and  to  the 
end  of  her  long  life's  journey  she  enjoyed  the 
respect  of  her  wide  circle  of  devoted  friends. 

This  is  brought  out  very  clearly  in  the  present 
volume,  in  which  the  story  of  her  career  is  told 
by  various  writers,  and  the  various  incidents  in 
that  career  —  notably  of  course  the  "  Burns 
incident"  as  it  has  been  called — more  or  less 
critically  analysed.  The  volume  is  in  reality  a 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  Clarinda.  It  could 
have  been  made  much  larger,  its  size  could  have 
been  swelled  with  ease  to  more  stately  propor- 
tions, but  enough  has  been  presented,  I  think, 
to  demonstrate  that  among  the  heroines  of 
Burns,  Agnes  M'Lchose  is  not  the  least  de- 
serving of  honour  as  an  honest,  a  beautiful,  and 
a  gifted  woman. 

JOHN   D.   ROSS. 

New  York, 
2  5  M  January  1 897 . 


CONTENTS. 


-4-'»»>- 


Memoir  of  Mrs  M'Lehose,  by  her  Grand- 
son, W.  C.  M'Lehose          -          .          .  i 

Letters  to  Mrs  M'Lehose       -           -           -  37 

Notes  on  the  Clarinda  Correspondence, 

BY  John  Muir,  F.S.A.  Scot.  -            -           -  i33 

Glimpse  of  Clarinda,  by  James  Adams,  M.D., 

Glasgow         -           -           -           -           -  137 

The  Real  Clarinda,  by  Peter  Ross,  LL.D. 

(Author  of  "The  Scot  in  America")     -            -  160 

A  Tribute,  by  Prof.  John  Stuart  Blackie  -  181 

All  About  Clarinda,  by  Robert  Ford        -  188 

Clarinda,  by  Rev.  J.  C.  Higgins,  A,M.,  B.D.  -  200 

A  Brief  Sketch,  by  Principal  Shairp          -  207 

Views    Concerning  Clarinda,   by  Rev.   Dr 

P.  Hately  Waddell            -           -           -  211 


xii  Contents. 


PAGE 


A  Visit  to  Clarinda      -  -  -  -  219 

Clarinda  in  Old  Age    -  -  -  -  223 

The  Original  Portrait  of  Clarinda  -  225 

Clarinda  and  Sylvander,  by  Alex.  Smith  -  227 

How  I  Lost  the  Opportunity  of  Meeting 

Burns'  Clarinda,  by  Thomas  C.  Latto  -  231 

Burns  and  Clarinda,  by  Rev.  A.  J.  Lockhart  236 

The  Poet's  Immortal  Wreath  for  Clarinda  241 


MEMOIR  OF   MRS    M'LEHOSE. 

BY  HER  Grandson, 

W.   C.    M'LEHOSE. 


Memoir    of   Mrs    M'Lehose. 

BY 

Her  Grandson,  W.  C.  M'Lehose. 


Mrs  M'Lehose,  whose  maiden  name  was 
Agnes  Craig,  was  born  in  Glasgow  in  April  1759. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  Mr  Andrew  Craig, 
surgeon  in  that  city — a  gentleman  of  a  good 
family.  His  brother  was  the  Rev.  William 
Craig,  one  of  the  ministers  of  Glasgow,  and 
father  of  Lord  Craig,  a  judge  of  the  Court  of 
Session.  The  mother  of  Mrs  M'Lehose  was  a 
daughter  of  the  Rev.  John  M'Laurin,  minister  of 
Luss,  and  afterwards  of  St  David's,  Glasgow. 
He  was  a  brother  of  Colin  M'Laurin,  the  cele- 
brated mathematician  and  friend  of  Sir  Isaac 
Newton.  Of  the  early  years  of  Agnes  Craig 
but  little  is  recorded.  She  was  so  delicate  in 
infancy  that  it  was  hardly  expected  she  would 
survive  childhood.  Yet  of  the  four  daughters 
and  a  son  she  alone  reached  old  age :  all  died 
in  childhood  except  her  sister  Margaret,  who,  at 


4  Burns^  Clarinda. 

the  age  of  nineteen,  became  the  wife  of  Captain 
Kennedy  of  Kailzie,  and  died  about  a  year 
afterwards.  The  education  of  Agnes  Craig  was 
very  incomplete,  as  all  female  education  was 
at  that  period,  compared  with  the  numerous 
advantages  possessed  by  young  people  of  both 
sexes  in  the  present  day.  All  the  education 
bestowed  upon  her  was  some  very  imperfect  in- 
struction in  English  grammar,  and  that  laborious 
idleness  called  sampler-work  ;  even  spelling  was 
much  neglected.  The  disadvantages  attending 
such  an  education  she  afterwards  fully  perceived, 
and  partially  remedied  at  a  period  of  life  when 
many  women  neglect  the  attainments  previously 
acquired,  and  but  few  persevere  in  the  cultivation 
of  further  knowledge. 

Agnes  lost  her  mother  when  she  was  only 
eight  years  old ;  and  her  only  surviving  sister, 
Mrs  Kennedy,  dying  about  five  years  afterwards, 
she  was  deprived  of  that  compensation  for  a 
mother's  invaluable  influence  and  superintend- 
ence which  might  have  been  derived  from  an 
elder  sister's  counsels.  Her  mother's  instruc- 
tions, however,  were  not  lost  upon  her ;  for 
many  years  afterwards  she  referred  with  heart- 
felt gratitude  to  the  benefit  she   derived   from 


Memoir.  5 

the  religious  principles  instilled  into  her  by  her 
"sainted  mother." 

Henceforward,  till  her  marriage,  she  lived 
with  the  father — except  that,  for  half  a  year, 
when  fifteen  years  old,  she  was  sent  to  an 
Edinburgh  boarding  -  school  —  a  practice  ap- 
parently prevalent  in  those  days  as  well  as 
now — to  finish  that  education  which  could  not 
be  said  to  have  been  properly  begun,  and  had 
no  solid  foundation.  This  circumstance  origi- 
nated an  acquaintance  which  ended  in  her 
marriage.  Even  at  this  early  age  she  was 
considered  one  of  the  beauties  of  Glasgow,  and 
was  styled  "  the  pretty  Miss  Nancy."  Mr  James 
M'Lehose,  a  young  man  of  respectable  con- 
nections, and  a  law  agent  in  that  city,  had 
been  disappointed  in  getting  introduced  to  her ; 
and  when  he  learned  that  she  was  going  to 
Edinburgh,  he  engaged  all  the  seats  in  the 
stage-coach,  excepting  the  one  taken  for  her. 
At  that  period  the  coach  took  the  whole  day 
to  perform  the  journey  between  the  two  cities, 
stopping  a  considerable  time  for  dinner  on  the 
road,  which  thus  afforded  Mr  M'Lehose  an 
excellent  opportunity  of  making  himself  agree- 
able— an  opportunity  which  he  took  the  utmost 


6  Burns'  Clarinda. 

pains  to  improve,  and  with  success,  being  pos- 
sessed of  an  agreeable  and  attractive  person, 
and  most  insinuating  manners.  His  deficiency 
of  sound  principle  was  hidden  from  general 
observation  by  great  plausibility.  After  the 
return  of  "  the  pretty  Miss  Nancy  "  to  Glasgow, 
Mr  M'Lehose  followed  up  the  acquaintance  thus 
commenced  by  paying  her  the  most  assiduous 
attention,  and  thus  succeeded  in  winning  her 
affections.  Being  young  and  inexperienced, 
deprived  of  the  counsels  of  a  mother  and  sister, 
and  attached  to  one  whom  she  thought  possessed 
of  every  virtue,  and  who  had  shown  so  decided 
a  partiality  to  her  in  a  manner  peculiarly  calcu- 
lated to  please  a  romantic  mind,  she  favourably 
received  his  addresses. 

In  this  she  was  not  encouraged  by  her  friends, 
who  thought  that  her  beauty,  talents,  and  con- 
nections entitled  her  to  a  superior  match.  How- 
ever, she  became  Mrs  M'Lehose  in  July  1776, 
being  then  only  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  her 
husband  five  years  her  senior.  Their  union,  she 
always  stated,  was  the  result  of  disinterested 
affection  on  both  sides.  But  this  connection 
proved  the  bane  of  her  happiness  and  the 
source  of  all    her   misfortunes.     Married  at  so 


Memoir.  7 

early  an  age,  before  the  vivacity  of  youth  was 
passed,  and  indeed  before  it  was  fully  developed, 
possessed  of  considerable  personal  attractions,  a 
ready  flow  of  wit,  a  keen  relish  for  society,  in 
which  her  conversational  powers  fitted  her  to 
excel,  and  a  strong  love  of  admiration,  she 
appears  to  have  displeased  her  husband  because 
she  could  not  at  once  forego  those  enjoyments 
so  natural  to  her  time  of  life  and  situation. 
And  he,  without  any  cause,  seems  to  have  con- 
ceived the  most  unworthy  jealousy,  which  led 
him  to  treat  her  with  a  severity  most  injudicious, 
and  to  one  of  her  disposition,  productive  of  the 
worst  consequences. 

She  soon  discovered  the  mistaken  estimate 
she  formed  of  her  husband's  character;  and 
being  of  a  high  sanguine  spirit,  could  ill  brook 
the  unmerited  bad  treatment  she  had  received. 
To  use  her  own  words,  in  a  statement  which 
she  afterwards  made  for  the  advice  of  her 
friends — "Only  a  short  time  had  elapsed  ere 
I  perceived,  with  inexpressible  regret,  that  our 
dispositions,  tempers,  and  sentiments  were  so 
totally  different  as  to  banish  all  hopes  of  happi- 
ness. Our  disagreements  rose  to  such  a  height, 
and  my  husband's  treatment  was  so  harsh,  that 


8  Burns'  Clarinda. 

it  was  thought  advisable  by  my  friends  a 
separation  should  take  place,  which  accordingly 
followed  in  December  1780." 

Mrs  M'Lehose  had  at  this  period  only  two 
children  living,  having  lost  her  first-born.  A 
fourth  was  born  a  few  months  after  this  separa- 
tion. Soon  after  this  event  her  husband  took 
her  infant  children  away  from  her,  in  the  hopes 
of  thereby  working  on  her  maternal  feelings, 
and  forcing  a  reunion,  which  she  firmly  refused, 
being  convinced  that  they  could  not  live  happily 
together.  She  parted  with  her  children  with 
extreme  reluctance,  her  father  being  both  able 
and  willing  to  maintain  her  and  them ;  while 
her  husband  had  neglected  his  business,  and 
entered  into  every  species  of  dissipation,  so  that 
he  became  unable  to  maintain  his  children,  and 
they  were  distributed  among  his  relations — the 
youngest  infant  being,  as  soon  as  possible,  re- 
moved from  the  tender  care  of  his  mother,  and 
committed  to  the  charge  of  a  hireling  nurse. 
He  even  prohibited  her  from  seeing  the  children, 
to  whom  he  knew  she  was  devotedly  attached. 
It  required  the  utmost  fortitude  on  her  part  to 
bear  this  cruel  deprivation,  but  by  enduring 
it  she   rendered   her  husband's   cruel   attempts 


Memoir.  9 

abortive.  All  the  children  died  young,  except 
the  late  A.  C.  M'Lehose,  W.S. 

Immediately  after  the  separation,  she  had  re- 
turned to  her  father's  house  with  her  children, 
where  she  remained  till  his  death,  in  the  year 
1782,  two  years  afterwards.  He  judiciously  left 
his  property  to  be  invested  in  an  annuity  for 
her  behoof,  entirely  independent  of  her  hus- 
band, and  beyond  his  control ;  and  feeling  it 
unpleasant  to  remain  in  the  same  city  with  her 
husband  and  his  relations,  and  yet  in  a  state 
of  alienation,  Mrs  M'Lehose,  by  the  advice  of 
her  friends,  removed  to  Edinburgh  in  the  same 
year,  1782. 

Her  husband  followed  her  soon  after,  on  his 
way  to  London,  having  formed  an  intention  of 
going  abroad.  He  solicited  an  interview  in 
these  terms  :  "  Early  to-morrow  morning  I  leave 
this  country  for  ever,  and  therefore  wish  much 
to  pass  one  quarter  of  an  hour  with  you.  Upon 
my  word  of  honour,  my  dearest  Nancy,  it  is 
the  last  night  you  probably  will  ever  have  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  me  in  this  world."  This 
appeal  she  refused  for  the  following  reasons : 
"  I  consulted  my  friends :  they  advised  me 
against  seeing  him ;  and  as  I  thought  it  could 


10  Burns'  Clarinda. 

be  productive  of  no  good,  I  declined  the  inter- 
view." The  treatment  she  received  from  her 
husband  while  living  with  him  must  have  been 
bad  indeed  to  make  one  of  her  forgiving  dis- 
position so  unyielding,  and  he  seems  to  have 
been  not  altogether  insensible  to  his  misconduct, 
for  two  years  later,  and  just  previous  to  going 
abroad,  he  wrote  to  his  wife :  "  For  my  own 
part,  I  am  willing  to  forget  what  is  past ;  neither 
do  I  require  any  apology  from  you  ;  for  I  am 
heartily  sorry  for  those  instances  of  my  behaviour 
to  you  which  caused  our  separation.  Were  it 
possible  to  recall  them,  they  should  never  be 
repeated,"  These  feelings  may  have  been  sin- 
cere at  the  moment,  but  they  had  no  depth  or 
endurance. 

Soon  after  Mr  M'Lehose  went  to  London,  in 
the  year  1782  he  wrote  his  wife  a  very  reproachful 
letter,  stating  his  intention  of  going  abroad,  and 
bidding  her  take  her  children  home  to  her.  In 
this  letter  he  observed  :  "  The  sooner  you  return 
to  Glasgow  the  better,  and  take  under  your  care 
and  protection  those  endearing  pledges  of  our 
once-happier  days,  as  none  of  my  friends  will 
have  anything  to  do  with  them."  After  speaking 
of  his  prospects  of  employment,  he  added  :  "  Yet 


Memoir.  1 1 

still,  however  remote  my  residence  may  be  from 
you  and  those  endearing  infants,  God  forbid  that 
I  should  be  so  destitute  of  natural  affection  for 
them,  as  to  permit  you  or  them,  in  the  smallest 
degree,  to  be  burdensome  to  any  of  your  friends. 
On  the  contrary,  I  shall  at  all  times  observe  the 
strictest  economy,  and  exert  myself  to  the  utter- 
most, so  that  I  may  be  enabled  to  contribute  to 
your  ease  and  happiness." 

It  will  be  seen  in  the  sequel  how  this  fair 
promise  was  observed.  The  truth  is  that  as  he 
could  not  prevail  on  his  wife  to  live  with  him, 
even  by  depriving  her  of  her  children,  to  whom 
she  was  tenderly  attached,  and  his  relations 
would  no  longer  support  him  in  his  idleness, 
or  his  children  for  his  sake,  their  sympathy  for 
him  being  blunted,  if  not  deadened,  by  his  mis- 
conduct, he  thus  contrived  to  throw  the  burden 
of  them  on  his  young  wife,  whose  patrimonial 
income  was  very  limited.  Her  situation  at  this 
trying  period  is  thus  related  :  "  The  income  left 
me  by  my  father  being  barely  sufficient  to  board 
myself,  I  was  now  distressed  how  to  support 
my  three  infants.  With  my  spirits  sunk  in 
deep  dejection,  I  went  to  Glasgow  to  see  them. 
I   found  arrears  due  for  their   board.     This   I 


12  Burns'  Clarinda. 

paid  ;  and  the  goodness  of  some  worthy  gentle- 
men in  Glasgow  procuring  me  a  small  annuity 
from  the  writers,  and  one  from  the  surgeons, 
I  again  set  out  for  Edinburgh  with  them  in 
August  1782 ;  and  by  the  strictest  economy, 
made  my  little  income  go  as  far  as  possible. 
The  deficiency  was  always  supplied  by  some 
worthy  benevolent  friends,  whose  kindness  no 
time  can  erase  from  my  grateful  heart." 

When  Mrs  M'Lehose  settled  in  Edinburgh 
in  1782,  though  comparatively  a  stranger,  her 
youth,  beauty,  and  misfortunes,  and  above  all, 
her  exemplary  conduct,  procured  for  her  the 
friendship,  not  only  of  her  own  relations,  but  of 
many  respectable  families,  till  then  unknown  to 
her,  from  whom  she  received  many  substantial 
proofs  of  kindness.  Thus,  though  deprived  of 
his  assistance  to  whom  she  had  the  most  sacred 
claim,  she  had  much  reason  to  bless  God  for 
His  goodness  in  raising  up  so  many  friends. 
Among  these  friends,  Lord  Craig,  her  cousin- 
german,  then  an  advocate  at  the  Scottish  bar, 
is  particularly  deserving  of  mention.  He  be- 
friended her  from  her  first  arrival  in  Edinburgh, 
and  continued,  during  his  life,  her  greatest 
benefactor.      Mrs   M'Lehose   consulted  him  on 


Memoir.  1 3 

all  occasions  of  difficulty ;  and  when  deprived 
of  the  annuities  from  Glasgow,  soon  after  her 
husband  settled  in  Jamaica,  on  account  of  his 
ability  to  maintain  his  children  himself,  Lord 
Craig  generously  continued  them,  and  made  up 
the  deficiencies  of  her  income.  At  his  death 
he  left  her  an  annuity,  and  made  her  son 
residuary  legatee.  Besides  these  substantial 
acts  of  kindness,  she  enjoyed  his  friendship, 
and  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  his  house,  where 
the  best  literary  society  of  Edinburgh  used  to 
assemble.  During  Mrs  M'Lehose's  early  resi- 
dence in  Edinburgh,  when  she  had  not  joined 
that  social  circle  of  which  she  soon  became  an 
ornament,  she  devoted  much  time  and  attention 
to  remedying  the  defects  of  her  early  educa- 
tion. She  improved  her  taste  by  the  study  of 
the  best  English  authors,  and  became  profi- 
cient in  English  composition.  Possessed  of  a 
most  retentive  memory,  she  often  quoted  aptly 
from  those  authors,  both  in  conversation  and  in 
her  correspondence,  which  afterwards  became 
extensive,  and  in  which  she  excelled.  It  is  to 
be  regretted  that  so  little  of  that  correspond- 
ence has  been  preserved ;  but  Mrs  M'Lehose 
having  survived   nearly  all   the  friends   of  her 


14  Burns'  Clarinda. 

early  life,  applications  made  in  quarters  where  it 
was  supposed  her  letters  might  have  been  pre- 
served, have  been  unsuccessful. 

It  was  at  this  period  also  that  Mrs  M'Lehose 
began  cultivating  the  Muses.  She  produced 
many  short  poetical  effusions,  a  few  of  which  have 
been  preserved.  Her  earliest  composition  was 
an  "  Address  to  a  Blackbird,"  which  she  heard 
singing  on  a  tree  near  her  residence,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  a  spot  where  St  Margaret's 
Convent  has  since  been  placed.  The  ideas, 
she  stated,  came  into  her  mind  like  inspiration. 

In  the  rearing  and  education  of  her  children 
she  took  great  delight ;  and  the  society  of  the 
many  friends  she  acquired  yielded  her  constant 
enjoyment  for  a  long  series  of  years,  until  the 
progress  of  time  thinned  their  ranks,  and  in- 
creasing years  and  infirmities  made  her,  in  some 
degree,  willing  to  relinquish  social  intercourse, 
of  which  she  was  so  fond,  for  the  retirement 
befitting  old  age.  Among  the  literary  men 
who  used  to  visit  her,  Thomas  Campbell,  who 
was  then  prosecuting  his  studies  at  the  Univer- 
sity ;  the  amiable  Graham,  the  author  of  "  The 
Sabbath " ;  James  Gray,  author  of  "  Cuna  of 
Cheyd,"  and  "The  Sabbath  among  the  Moun- 


Memoir.  1 5 

tains  "  ;  and  Robert  Ainslie,  the  friend  of  Burns, 
author  of  various  religious  works  addressed  to 
the  young,  and  of  a  series  of  political  letters, 
may  be  enumerated.  This  gentleman  proved 
throughout  life  a  warm  and  steady  friend.  He 
was  an  original  visitor  at  Mrs  M'Lehose's  New 
Year  parties,  which  were  kept  up  for  about 
forty  years,  and  are  still  remembered  by  several 
of  the  younger  guests  for  their  great  convivi- 
ality, to  which  the  liveliness  and  vivacity  of  the 
hostess  greatly  contributed. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  year  1787,  Robert 
Burns  was  introduced  to  Mrs  M'Lehose  in  the 
house  of  a  mutual  friend.  Miss  Nimmo.  They 
spent  the  evening  together ;  and  we  have  the 
sentiments  recorded  by  both  parties  of  the  im- 
pressions reciprocally  produced.  The  poet  de- 
clared, in  one  of  his  letters  to  her  :  "  Of  all  God's 
creatures  I  ever  could  approach  in  the  beaten 
way  of  friendship,  you  struck  me  with  the 
deepest,  the  strongest,  the  most  permanent 
impression."  While  she  wrote :  "  Miss  Nimmo 
can  tell  you  how  earnestly  I  had  long  pressed 
her  to  make  us  acquainted.  I  had  a  presenti- 
ment that  we  would  derive  pleasure  from  the 
society  of  each  other."     The  poet  was  at  this 


l6  Burns*  Clarinda. 

time  preparing  to  depart  from  Edinburgh  ;  and 
under  these  circumstances,  could  only  regret 
that  he  had  not  possessed  the  opportunity  of 
cultivating  the  lady's  acquaintance  earlier;  but 
a  severe  accident,  which  happened  a  day  or  two 
later,  when  he  was  engaged  to  spend  the  even- 
ing with  her,  delayed  his  departure  for  some 
time,  and  led  to  a  correspondence  in  which 
Mrs  M'Lehose  fancifully  adopted  the  name  of 
"  Clarinda,"  and  Burns  followed  up  the  idea  by 
signing  "  Sylvander."  As  soon  as  he  recovered 
from  his  accident,  the  poet  visited  the  lady,  and 
they  enjoyed  much  of  each  other's  society  for 
several  months  till  he  left  Edinburgh.  They 
met  only  once  afterwards,  in  the  year  1791, 
but  occasionally  corresponded  till  within  a  short 
period  of  his  death. 

When  Mr  M'Lehose  went  to  London  in 
1782,  he  found  too  many  opportunities  for  in- 
dulging in  dissipation  and  extravagance  to  go 
abroad  so  long  as  he  was  able  to  procure  money 
from  his  family  in  Scotland — assistance  which 
they  could  ill  afford,  and  were  obliged  finally 
to  refuse,  their  patience  and  generosity  being 
exhausted.  After  two  years  and  a  half  thus 
spent  in    idleness,    Mr   M'Lehose   was    thrown 


Memoir.  17 

into  prison  for  debt ;  and  his  relatives,  being 
once  more  appealed  to,  consented  to  advance 
the  funds  necessary  for  his  release  and  outfit, 
on  condition  that  he  immediately  went  abroad. 
With  this  he  complied,  and  sailed  for  Jamaica 
in  November  1784.  Before  leaving  London, 
and  afterwards  from  Jamaica,  where  he  became 
very  prosperous,  he  wrote  his  mother  and 
family  most  grateful  letters  for  their  kindness, 
but  never  repaid  the  debt,  though  appealed 
to,  when  his  mother's  income  became  inade- 
quate to  her  support. 

Mr  M'Lehose  did  not  favour  his  wife  even 
with  grateful  letters,  though  she  wrote  him  re- 
peatedly respecting  her  circumstances  and  the 
health  of  their  children.  The  following  appeal 
to  him  from  Lord  Craig  was  equally  fruitless : 
"  I  write  you  this  letter  to  represent  to  you 
the  situation  of  your  family  here.  Your  wife's 
father  left  some  property  in  Glasgow,  the  in- 
terest of  which  your  wife  draws  for  the  support 
of  herself  and  children ;  but  this  not  being 
sufficient,  by  the  solicitation  of  some  of  your 
friends  £%  a  year  was  obtained  from  the  sur- 
geons, and  £\o  a  year  from  the  writers  in 
Glasgow.  Even  this,  however,  did  not  do, 
B 


1 8  Burns'  Clarinda. 

owing  to  the  great  rise  in  the  expense  of 
housekeeping,  and  the  necessary  outlay  for 
your  children  and  their  education ;  so  that  I 
advanced  money  to  Mrs  M.  even  while  she 
got  the  above  sums.  Accounts,  I  am  informed, 
have  lately  arrived  from  Jamaica  which  I  am 
very  glad  of,  representing  you  to  be  in  a  very 
good  situation,  and  as  having  got  into  very 
profitable  business.  The  surgeons  and  writers 
have  withdrawn  their  allowance,  and  I  have 
been  told  their  principal  reason  for  doing  so  is 
the  accounts  they  have  heard  of  the  goodness 
of  your  situation.  No  remittances,  however, 
have  as  yet  come  from  you ;  and  in  this  last 
year,  owing  to  the  withdrawal  of  the  writers 
and  surgeons,  I  have  paid  Mrs  M'Lehose 
upwards  of  ;^30  above  what  I  have  received. 
No  person,  except  my  brother,  is  willing  to 
contribute  anything ;  and  all  your  own  relations 
have  positively  refused,  from  the  beginning,  to 
contribute  a  single  farthing.  In  this  situation 
I  am  resolved  to  advance  no  more  money  out 
of  my  own  funds  on  the  account  of  your  family. 
What  I  have  already  given,  I  have  never  laid 
my  account  in  being  reimbursed,  and  it  shall 
never  be  thought  of;  but  for  the  future  every 


Memoir.  19 

consideration  demands  that  you  should  yourself 
contribute  for  the  support  of  your  own  chil- 
dren. I  expect,  therefore,  that  you  will  by  the 
first  opportunity  write  to  some  of  your  corre- 
spondents in  this  country,  giving  what  direc- 
tions you  think  proper  about  your  children, 
and  making  some  proper  remittance  on  their 
account,  as,  I  repeat  it  again,  I  am  deter- 
mined not  to  continue  to  pay  money  on  their 
account." 

In  Mrs  M'Lehose's  narrative  she  states : 
"About  the  year  1787,  my  youngest  boy, 
William,  fell  into  ill-health.  This  increased 
my  expense ;  and  at  this  period  the  annuities 
from  Glasgow  were  withheld  from  me,  the 
reason  assigned  being  that  Mr  M'Lehose  was 
doing  well,  and  in  a  way  to  support  his  chil- 
dren himself.  I  wrote  once  more  to  him, 
giving  him  an  account  of  his  children,  par- 
ticularly of  William's  helpless  situation,  and 
also  my  reduced  circumstances,  warmly  expos- 
tulating with  him  on  the  duty  and  necessity 
of  remitting  for  their  support  and  education. 
I  anxiously  waited  for  an  answer,  but  received 
none.  In  August  1788  my  delicate  child  was 
happily  delivered  from  his  sufferings.     I  wrote 


20  Bums'  Clarinda. 

again  immediately  of  his  death.  Still  I  received 
no  answer  till  the  following  August,  when  I 
had  a  letter,  and  soon  after  another,  inviting 
me  to  come  to  Jamaica,  and  enclosing  a  bill 
for  ;^S0,  which  was  meant,  I  suppose,  to  equip 
me,  and  containing  the  most  flattering  direc- 
tions to  give  his  only  surviving  son  the  best 
education  Edinburgh  would  afford."  "With 
regard  to  my  dear  son,"  Mr  M'lxhose  writes, 
"  it  is  my  wish  that  he  should  be  placed  in 
the  first  boarding-school  for  young  gentlemen, 
either  in  Edinburgh  or  its  environs.  Whatever 
expense  may  attend  it  shall  be  regularly  and 
punctually  paid.  It  is  my  wish  that  he  should 
continue  at  the  Latin  until  he  is  perfect  master 
of  that  language;  and  when  that  is  accom- 
plished, I  wish  him  to  be  instructed  in  the 
French,  which  is  now  become  so  generally  use- 
ful all  over  the  globe,  and  in  particular  here, 
where  I  intend  to  fix  him  in  business.  It  will 
be  proper  also  that  he  be  immediately  put 
under  a  dancing-master,  and,  what  is  still  more 
requisite,  that  he  should  learn  to  fence.  No 
expense  can  be  incurred  that  will  not  be  dis- 
charged with  infinite  pleasure  and  satisfaction, 
provided  he  is  to  benefit  by  it  as  I  could  wish. 


Memoir.  2i 

If  you  have  no  inclination  to  come  out  to  this 
country,  I  then  have  to  request  you  to  embrace 
the  first  opportunity  to  inform  me  of  such  deter- 
mination, as  in  that  case  I  will  immediately 
order  my  son  up  to  London,  and  put  him 
under  the  care  of  one  of  the  first  West  India 
houses  in  the  city  to  receive  the  remainder  of 
his  education  either  at  Westminster  or  at  Eton, 
whichever  they  think  most  advisable." 

Mrs  M'Lehose  was  much  at  a  loss  how  to  act. 
At  first  she  felt  strongly  inclined  to  remain  in 
this  country,  but  finally  resolved  to  proceed  to 
Jamaica.  "  I  consulted  my  friends ;  they  de- 
clined giving  any  advice,  and  referred  me  to  my 
own  mind.  After  much  agitation,  and  deep  and 
anxious  reflection  for  my  only  child's  sake,  for 
whom  he  promised  such  liberal  things,  and 
encouraged  by  flattering  accounts  of  his  charac- 
ter and  conduct  in  Jamaica,  I  resolved  to  under- 
take the  arduous  voyage." 

The  motives  which  influenced  her  will  best 
be  seen  from  the  letter  which  she  wrote  to  her 
friend.  Lord  Craig,  upon  the  subject :  "  When  I 
last  wrote  you,  the  bidding  adieu  to  my  dear 
boy  was  my  only  source  of  anxiety.  I  had  then 
no  idea  whatever  of  going  out  to  Mr  M'Lehose. 


22  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Next  day  I  learned  from  Mrs  Adair  that  Captain 
Liddel  told  her  my  husband  had  the  strongest 
resolution  of  using  me  kindly,  in  case  I  accepted 
of  his  invitation  ;  and  that  pride  alone  hindered 
his  acknowledging  his  faults  a  second  time,  still 
hurt  at  my  not  answering  his  overtures  of  recon- 
ciliation from  London.  But  that,  in  case  I  did 
not  choose  to  come  over,  I  might  rest  assured 
I  never  would  hear  from  him  while  he  existed. 
Captain  Liddel  added  his  opinion,  that  I  ought 
to  go,  in  the  strongest  terms.  Mrs  Adair  joins 
him ;  and  above  all,  my  poor  son  adds  his 
entreaties  most  earnestly.  I  thought  it  prudent 
to  inform  him,  for  the  first  time,  of  the  disagree- 
ment between  his  parents,  and  the  unhappy 
jealousy  in  his  father's  temper.  Still  he  argues 
that  his  father  may  be  incensed  at  my  refusal. 
If  I  go,  I  have  a  terror  of  the  sea,  and  no  less  of 
the  climate ;  above  all,  the  horror  of  again 
involving  myself  in  misery  in  the  midst  of 
strangers,  and  almost  without  remedy.  If  I 
refuse,  I  must  bid  my  only  child  (in  whom  all 
affections  and  hopes  are  entirely  centred)  adieu 
for  ever :  struggle  with  a  straitened  income  and 
the  world's  censure  solitary  and  unprotected. 
The  bright  side  of  these  alternatives  is,  that  if 


Memoir.  23 

I  go  my  husband's  jealousy  of  temper  may  be 
abated,  from  a  better  knowledge  of  the  world ; 
and  time  and  misfortunes,  by  making  alterations 
both  on  person  and  vivacity,  will  render  me 
less  likely  to  incur  his  suspicions ;  and  that  ill 
humour,  which  partly  arose  from  straitened 
fortune,  will  be  removed  by  affluence.  I  will 
enjoy  my  son's  society,  and  have  him  for  a 
friend  ;  and  who  knows  what  effect  so  fine  a  boy 
may  have  on  a  father  long  absent  from  his  sight. 
If  I  refuse,  and  stay  here,  I  shall  continue  to 
enjoy  a  circle  of  kind,  respectable  friends. 
Though  my  income  be  small,  I  can  never  be  in 
want,  and  I  shall  maintain  that  liberty  which, 
after  nine  years'  enjoyment,  I  shall  find  it  hard 
to  forego,  even  to  the  degree  to  which  I  am 
sensible  every  married  woman  must  submit." 

A  few  days  later  she  wrote  again  to  the  same 
gentleman  :  "  On  Friday  last  I  went  down  to 
Leith,  and  had  a  conversation  on  board  the 
'Roselle'  with  Captain  Liddel.  He  told  me  that 
Mr  M'Lehose  had  talked  of  me,  and  of  my 
coming  over,  with  great  tenderness ;  and  said  it 
would  be  my  fault  if  we  did  not  enjoy  great 
happiness ;  and  concluded  with  assuring  me,  if 
I  were  his  own  child  he  would  advise  me  to  go 


24  Burns'  Clarinda. 

out.  This  conversation  has  tended  greatly  to 
decide  my  accepting  my  husband's  invitation. 
I  have  done  what  you  desired  me — weighed 
coolly  (as  coolly  as  a  subject  so  interesting 
would  permit)  all  I  have  to  suffer  or  expect  in 
either  situation  ;  and  the  result  is,  my  going  to 
Jamaica.  This  appears  to  me  the  preferable 
choice  ;  it  is  surely  the  path  of  duty  ;  and  such, 
I  may  look  for  the  blessing  of  God  to  attend  my 
endeavours  for  happiness  with  him  who  was  the 
husband  of  my  choice  and  the  father  of  my 
children.  On  Saturday  I  was  agreeably  surprised 
by  a  call  from  Mr  Kemp.  He  had  received  my 
letter  that  morning  at  Glasgow,  and  had  alighted 
for  a  few  minutes,  on  his  way  to  Easter  Dudding- 
ston,  where  his  family  are  for  summer  quarters. 
He  was  much  affected  with  my  perplexing  situa- 
tion. Like  you,  he  knew  not  how  to  decide, 
and  left  me,  promising  to  call  early  this  day, 
which  he  has  done.  I  told  him  of  the  meeting 
with  Mr  Liddel,  and  enumerated  all  the  argu- 
ments which  I  had  thought  of  on  both  sides  of 
the  question.  What  Mr  Liddel  (who  is  a  man 
of  known  worth)  said  to  me  weighed  much  with 
him  ;  and  he,  too,  is  now  of  opinion  my  going  to 
Jamaica  is  advisable.     He  gave  me  much  good 


Memoir.  25 

advice  as  to  my  conduct  towards  Mr  M'Lehose, 
and  promised  to  write  him  himself.  Your  letter 
luckily  arrived  while  he  was  with  me.  The 
assurance  of  my  little  income  being  secured  me 
not  a  little  adds  both  to  his  opinion  of  the 
propriety  of  my  going,  and  to  my  ease  and 
comfort,  in  case  (after  doing  all  I  can)  it  should 
prove  impossible  to  enjoy  that  peace  which  I  so 
earnestly  pant  after ;  and  I  would  fain  hope  for 
a  tender  reception.  After  ten  years'  separation, 
and  the  sacrifice  I  make  bidding  adieu  (probably 
for  ever)  to  my  friends  and  my  country — indeed, 
I  am  much  depressed  in  mind — should  I  escape 
the  sea,  the  climate  may  prove  fatal  to  me ;  but 
should  it  happen  so,  I  have  the  satisfaction  to 
think  I  shall  die  in  attempting  to  attain  happi- 
ness in  that  path  of  duty  which  Providence  and 
a  succession  of  events  seem  to  point  out  for  the 
best.  You,  my  dear  kind  benefactor,  have  had 
much  trouble  with  me  first  and  last ;  and  though 
others  appear  ungrateful,  neither  time  nor 
absence  can  ever  erase  from  my  heart  the  re- 
membrance of  your  past  kindness.  My  prayers 
shall  ascend  for  the  reward  of  Heaven  upon  your 
head.  To-morrow  I  am  to  write  to  my  husband. 
Mr  Kemp  is  to  see  it  on  Wednesday.     If  any 


26  Burns'  Clarinda. 

person  occurs  to  you  as  proper  to  place  Andrew 
with  in  Edinburgh,  let  me  know — the  sooner 
the  better :  the  hopes  of  his  rejoining  me  will  help 
to  console  my  mind  in  the  midst  of  strangers. 
I  am  sorry  you  are  to  be  so  long  of  coming  to 
town.  Meantime  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  from 
you :  for  I  am,  my  dear  Sir,  in  every  possible 
situation,  your  affectionate  and  obliged  friend, 
A.  M." 

"  I  accordingly  wrote  my  husband  in  October 
1791,  acquainting  him  with  my  resolution  of 
forgetting  past  differences,  and  throwing  myself 
on  his  protection."  As  the  "  Roselle "  did  not 
leave  for  Jamaica  till  spring,  she  again  wrote  him 
in  December. 

After  giving  the  details  of  the  arrangements 
she  had  made  for  their  son's  education,  in  com- 
pliance with  his  instructions,  she  thus  proceeds : 
"  I  had  occasion  to  be  in  Glasgow  lately  for 
two  days  only.  I  called  for  your  mother.  I  felt 
much  for  her — bereaved  of  so  many  children. 
The  peculiar  circumstances  which  attended  poor 
Annie's  death  affected  me  excessively.  They 
told  me  you  had  not  written  these  three  years 
past ;  but  I  assured  them  (and  I  hope  it  is  the 
case)  that  your  letters  must  have  miscarried,  as 


Memoir.  27 

I  could  not  believe  you  capable  of  such  unkind 
neglect.  I  am  certain,  inclination,  no  less  than 
duty,  must  ever  prompt  you  to  pay  attention  to 
your  mother.  She  has  met  with  many  and  sore 
afflictions,  and  I  feel  for  her  the  most  sincere 
sympathy."  In  the  same  letter  she  adds :  "  I 
have  met  with  much  kindness  since  I  came  to 
Edinburgh,  from  a  set  of  most  agreeable  and 
respectable  friends.  No  ideas  of  wealth  or 
splendour  could  compensate  for  the  pain  I  shall 
feel  in  bidding  them  adieu.  Nothing  could 
support  me  but  the  fond  reliance  I  have  of  gain- 
ing your  affections  and  confidence.  To  possess 
these  is  the  dearest  wish  of  my  heart,  and  I 
trust  the  Almighty  will  grant  this  my  ardent 
desire.  I  would  fain  hope  to  hear  from  you  ere 
I  sail ;  a  kind  letter  from  you  would  prove  a 
balm  to  my  soul  during  the  anxieties  of  a 
tedious  voyage." 

Mrs  M'Lehose  sailed  from  Leith  in  February 
1792,  and  arrived  at  Kingston  in  April  following. 
The  day  before  her  departure  she  received  a 
letter  from  her  fickle  husband,  dissuading  her 
from  going  out,  on  the  pretence  that  the  yellow 
fever  prevailed  in  the  island,  and  that  a  revolt 
had  taken  place  among  the  negroes ;  both  of 


2S  Burns^  Clarinda. 

which  statements  were  false.  But  having  taken 
leave  of  her  friends,  engaged  her  passage,  and 
made  the  preparations  which  the  expectation  of 
an  absence,  prolonged  perhaps  for  years,  required, 
she  resolved  (unwisely,  as  the  event  proved)  to 
proceed.  It  is  a  curious  coincidence  that  the 
vessel  she  sailed  in  was  the  "  Roselle,"  the  same 
in  which  Burns  intended  to  have  sailed  for  the 
same  destination  a  few  years  earlier. 

Mrs  M'Lehose  suffered  much  from  the  voyage, 
especially  in  the  warmer  latitudes,  and  when  she 
reached  Kingston,  her  husband  did  not  go  down 
to  the  ship  for  a  length  of  time.  All  the  other 
lady  passengers  had  been  speedily  joined  by 
their  friends.  When  he  came,  he  was  very  cold, 
and  seemed  far  from  being  glad  to  see  his  wife ; 
and  even  in  this  interview,  before  they  left  the 
ship,  he  used  some  harsh  expressions  towards 
her  in  presence  of  the  captain  and  others  which 
wounded  her  feelings  much. 

"  As  my  constitution  never  agreed  with  heat, 
I  felt  its  bad  effects  as  soon  as  we  had  crossed 
the  Line  ;  but  the  very  cold  reception  I  received 
from  Mr  M'Lehose  on  landing,  gave  me  a  shock 
which,  joined  to  the  climate,  deranged  my  mind 
to  such  a  degree  as  made  me  not  answerable  for 


Memoir.  29 

what  I  either  said  or  did.  My  husband's  after- 
kindness  could  not  remove  the  complication  of 
nervous  disorders  which  seized  me.  They 
increased  to  such  a  height  that  Dr  Fife,  the 
professional  gentleman  who  attended  me,  and 
whose  soothing  manner  I  can  never  forget,  was 
of  opinion  my  going  home  was  absolutely 
necessary — otherwise  my  reason,  if  not  my  life, 
would  fall  a  sacrifice.  Accordingly,  in  June  I 
took  leave  of  Mr  M'Lehose,  and  returned  home 
in  the  ship  I  had  gone  out  in.  Our  parting 
was  most  affectionate.  On  my  part,  it  was  with 
sincere  regret  that  my  health  obliged  me  to 
leave  him.  Upon  his,  it  was  to  all  appearance 
equally  so.  However,  we  parted  with  mutual 
promises  of  constancy,  and  of  keeping  up  a 
regular  correspondence.  After  getting  into  cool 
air,  I  gradually  recovered  my  health." 

There  were  other  reasons  for  leaving  Jamaica 
besides  those  which  she  mentioned  in  the  state- 
ment just  quoted.  Mr  M'Lehose,  like  most 
West  Indian  planters,  had  a  family  by  a  coloured 
mistress.  This  could  not  be  otherwise  than  a 
source  of  mortification  and  annoyance.  The 
ebullition  of  temper  which  he  had  exhibited 
towards  her  on  their  first  meeting  was  a  prelude 


30  Burns'  Clarinda. 

to  more  violent  outbreaks,  which,  though  not 
always  directed  to  her  personally,  paralysed  her 
with  fear.  His  slaves  were  generally  the  objects 
of  these  fits  of  wrath ;  and  seeing  that  his  wife 
pitied  their  abject  condition,  he  took  pleasure  in 
threatening  and  abusing  them  in  her  presence. 

Circumstances  were  thus  most  unfavourable  to 
Mrs  M'Lehose's  stay  in  Jamaica ;  but,  had  they 
been  propitious,  she  was  ill  calculated  to  endure 
a  permanent  change  of  habits.  That  she  was 
undoubtedly  very  unhappy  in  the  West  Indies 
may  be  gathered  from  the  following  extract  from 
her  journal  many  years  afterwards :  "  Recollect 
that  I  arrived  in  Jamaica  this  day  twenty-two 
years.  What  I  suffered  during  the  three  months 
I  remained  there.  Lord,  make  me  grateful  for  Thy 
goodness  in  bringing  me  back  to  my  native 
country." 

Mrs  M'Lehose  arrived  in  Edinburgh  in  August 
1792,  and  soon  after  resumed  housekeeping,  and 
took  home  her  son,  who  had  been  placed  at  Dr 
Chapman's  excellent  boarding-school.  The  first 
year  had  now  expired  without  any  part  of  the 
expense  being  defrayed  by  his  father,  and  the 
debt  was  ultimately  cancelled  by  the  liberality 
of  Lord   Craig.     As   Mr   M'Lehose    continued 


Memoir.  3 1 

thus  utterly  to  neglect  his  wife  and  son,  she  was 
prevailed  on  by  her  friends  to  institute  proceed- 
ings against  him  before  the  Court  of  Session  in 
order  to  enforce  these  obligations.  In  March 
1797,  accordingly,  she  obtained  a  judgment  of 
the  Court,  ordaining  him  to  pay  her  a  yearly 
aliment  of  ;^ioo  sterling.  From  that  judgment 
the  following  is  an  extract :  "  In  the  close  of  the 
year  1784,  Mr  M'Lehose  settled  as  an  attorney- 
at-law  in  Kingston,  Jamaica ;  and  business  in- 
creased so  rapidly,  that  he  was  soon  in  posses- 
sion of,  and  still  enjoys,  a  revenue  of  ;^  1,000  a 
year  from  his  profession." 

This  decree,  however,  owing  to  Mr  M'Lehose 
being  resident  in  Jamaica,  did  not  add  to  Mrs 
M'Lehose's  income ;  although  it  was  the  means 
ultimately  of  enabling  her  to  recover  in  this 
country  some  funds  belonging  to  her  husband. 
Thus  abandoned  by  her  husband,  Mrs  M'Lehose 
and  her  only  son,  the  late  Mr  Andrew  M'Lehose, 
W.S.,  continued  to  live  together.  Soon  after  her 
return  from  Jamaica,  Mr  Robert  Ainslie,  the 
friend  of  Burns,  kindly  took  her  son  as  appren- 
tice. He  continued  to  live  with  his  mother  until 
the  year  1809,  when  he  married.  They  lived 
most  happily  together  ;  and  probably  there  have 


32  Burns'  Clarinda. 

been  few  instances  of  more  devoted  mutual 
attachment  between  parent  and  child. 

In  March  1812,  Mr  M'Lehose  died  at  King- 
ston ;  and  though  he  had  been  in  receipt  of  a 
large  income  for  many  years  as  Chief  Clerk  of 
the  Court  of  Common  Pleas  in  Jamaica,  no  funds 
were  ever  received  from  that  island  by  his  family. 
A  report  reached  this  country,  as  being  a  matter 
of  notoriety  in  Kingston,  that  some  of  his  par- 
ticular friends  had,  on  the  approach  of  death, 
sent  all  his  domestics  out  of  the  house,  and  as 
soon  as  the  breath  quitted  his  body,  carried  off 
whatever  cash  and  documents  there  were.  If  so, 
the  friends  proved  befitting  the  man.  Notice, 
however,  was  given  to  Mrs  M'Lehose  that  a 
balance  of  several  hundred  pounds,  belonging  to 
her  husband,  was  in  the  hands  of  Messrs  Coutts 
in  London,  which  she  soon  afterwards  obtained. 

It  was  then  discovered  that  he  had  had  an 
account  current  at  this  bank  for  many  years, 
while  he  had  suffered  his  family  to  have  their 
income  eked  out  by  the  generosity  of  friends : 
£^0  advanced  to  her,  as  already  mentioned, 
before  she  sailed  for  Jamaica,  and  a  present  of 
£21  on  leaving  that  island,  being  all  which  this 
wealthy  husband  bestowed  on  his  family  in  the 


Memoir.  %% 

long  period  of  thirty-two  years.  Yet,  after  her 
departure  from  Jamaica,  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
speaking  of  his  family  with  great  affection,  and 
boasted  of  the  valuable  presents  which  he  had 
made  his  wife  and  son.  It  is  known  that  he  was 
a  man  of  talents  and  pleasing  address,  but  his 
temper  was  occasionally  violent  and  ungovern- 
able. Yet  he  was  often  soft  and  agreeable.  His 
written  correspondence  showed  the  same  charac- 
teristics— alternate  passages  of  the  most  endear- 
ing and  the  most  insulting  language. 


LETTERS   TO   MRS    M'LEHOSE. 


Letters  to  Mrs  M*Lehose. 


No.  I. 
To  Mrs  M'Lehose. 

Tuesday  Evening  \pecember  6,  1 787]. 

Madam, 

I  had  set  no  small  store  by  my  tea- 
drinking  to-night,  and  have  not  often  been  so 
disappointed.  Saturday  evening  I  shall  embrace 
the  opportunity  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  I 
leave  town  this  day  se'nnight,  and  probably  for 
a  couple  of  twelvemonths  ;  but  must  ever  regret 
that  I  so  lately  got  an  acquaintance  I  shall 
ever  highly  esteem,  and  in  whose  welfare  I  shall 
ever  be  warmly  interested. 

Our  worthy  common  friend,  in  her  usual 
pleasant  way,  rallied  me  a  good  deal  on  my 
new  acquaintance,  and  in  the  humour  of  her 
ideas  I  wrote  some  lines,  which  I  enclose  you. 


38  Bums'  Clarinda. 

as  I  think  they  have  a  good  deal  of  poetic 
merit;  and  Miss  [Nimmo]  tells  me  you  are 
not  only  a  critic,  but  a  poetess.  Fiction,  you 
know,  is  the  native  region  of  poetry ;  and  I 
hope  you  will  pardon  my  vanity  in  sending 
you  the  bagatelle  as  a  tolerable  off-hand  jeu 
(Tesprit.  I  have  several  poetic  trifles,  which  I 
will  gladly  leave  with  Miss  [Nimmo]  or  you,  if 
they  were  worth  house-room ;  as  there  are 
scarcely  two  people  on  earth  by  whom  it  would 
mortify  me  more  to  be  forgotten,  though  at 
the  distance  of  ninescore  miles. 

I  am,  Madam,  with  the  highest  respect, 

Your  very  humble  Servant, 

*  *  *  * 

No.  11. 
To  Mrs  M'Lehose. 

Saturday  Even  {^December  8]. 

I  CAN  say  with  truth,  Madam,  that  I   never 

met  with    a   person  in   my  life  whom   I  more 

anxiously  wished  to  meet  again  than  yourself 

To-night    I  was   to   have   had  that  very  great 


Letters.  39 

pleasure — I  was  intoxicated  with  the  idea ;  but 
an  unlucky  fall  from  a  coach  has  so  bruised 
one  of  my  knees,  that  I  can't  stir  my  leg  off 
the  cushion.  So,  if  I  don't  see  you  again,  I 
shall  not  rest  in  my  grave  for  chagrin.  I  was 
vexed  to  the  soul  I  had  not  seen  you  sooner. 
I  determined  to  cultivate  your  friendship  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  religion  ;  but  thus  has  For- 
tune ever  served  me.  I  cannot  bear  the  idea 
of  leaving  Edinburgh  without  seeing  you.  I 
know  not  how  to  account  for  it — I  am  strangely 
taken  with  some  people,  nor  am  I  often  mis- 
taken. You  are  a  stranger  to  me ;  but  I  am  an 
odd  being.  Some  yet  unnamed  feelings — things, 
not  principles,  but  better  than  whims — carry 
me  farther  than  boasted  reason  ever  did  a 
philosopher. 

Farewell !  every  happiness  be  yours. 

Robert  Burns. 

No.  III. 
To  Mrs  M'Leiiose. 

I  STRETCH  a  point  indeed,  my  dearest  Madam, 
when   I    answer  your  card  on  the  rack  of  my 


40  Burns'  Clarinda. 

present  agony.  Your  friendship,  Madam  !  By 
heavens,  I  was  never  proud  before  !  Your  h'nes, 
I  maintain  it,  are  poetry,  and  good  poetry; 
mine  were  indeed  partly  fiction,  and  partly  a 
friendship  which,  had  I  been  so  blest  as  to 
have  met  with  you  in  time,  might  have  led  me 
— God  of  love  only  knows  where.  Time  is  too 
short  for  ceremonies. 

I  swear  solemnly  (in  all  the  tenor  of  my 
former  oath)  to  remember  you  in  all  the  pride 
and  warmth  of  friendship  until — I  cease  to  be ! 

To-morrow,  and  every  day,  till  I  see  you,  you 
shall  hear  from  me. 

Farewell !  May  you  enjoy  a  better  night's 
repose  than  I  am  likely  to  have ! 


No.  IV. 

To  Mrs  M'Lehose. 

Your  last,  my  dear  Madam,  had  the  effect  on 
me  that  Job's  situation  had  on  his  friends,  when 
"  they  sat  down  seven  days  and  seven  nights 
astonied,  and  spake  not  a  word."  "  Pay  my 
addresses  to  a  married  woman  ! "  I  started  as 
If  I  had  seen  the  ghost  of  hifn   I  had  injured  : 


Letters.  41 

I  recollected  my  expressions ;  some  of  them 
indeed  were,  in  the  law  phrase,  "habit  and 
repute,"  which  is  being  half  guilty.  I  cannot 
positively  say,  Madam,  whether  my  heart  might 
not  have  gone  astray  a  little  ;  but  I  can  declare, 
upon  the  honour  of  a  poet,  that  the  vagrant  has 
wandered  unknown  to  me.  I  have  a  pretty 
handsome  troop  of  follies  of  my  own  ;  and,  like 
some  other  people's  retinue,  they  are  but  un- 
disciplined blackguards  ;  but  the  luckless  rascals 
have  something  of  honour  in  them  :  they  would 
not  do  a  dishonest  thing. 

To  meet  with  an  unfortunate  woman,  amiable 
and  young,  deserted  and  widowed  by  those  who 
were  bound  by  every  tie  of  duty,  nature,  and 
gratitude  to  protect,  comfort,  and  cherish  her ; 
add  to  all,  when  she  is  perhaps  one  of  the  first 
of  lovely  forms  and  noble  minds,  the  mind,  too, 
that  hits  one's  taste  as  the  joys  of  heaven  do 
a  saint — should  a  vague  infant  idea,  the  natural 
child  of  imagination,  thoughtlessly  peep  over 
the  fence — were  you,  my  friend,  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment, and  the  poor,  airy  straggler  brought 
before  you,  trembling,  self-condemned,  with 
artless  eyes,  brimful  of  contrition,  looking  wist- 
fully  on    its  judge,   you    could    not,   my   dear 


42  Bums'  Clarinda. 

Madam,  condemn  the  hapless  wretch  to  death 
"  without  benefit  of  clergy  "  ? 

I  won't  tell  you  what  reply  my  heart  made 
to  your  raillery  of  "  seven  years "  :  but  I  will 
give  you  what  a  brother  of  my  trade  says  on 
the  same  allusion  : — 

"  The  Patriarch  to  gain  a  wife, 
Chaste,  beautiful  and  young, 
Served  fourteen  years  a  painful  life, 
And  never  thought  it  long. 

"  Oh,  were  you  to  reward  such  cares, 
And  life  so  long  would  stay, 
Not  fourteen  but  four  hundred  years 
Would  seem  as  but  one  day." 

I  have  written  you  this  scrawl  because  I  have 
nothing  else  to  do,  and  you  may  sit  down  and 
find  fault  with  it,  if  you  have  no  better  way  of 
consuming  your  time ;  but  finding  fault  with 
the  vagaries  of  a  poet's  fancy  is  much  such 
another  business  as  Xerxes  chastising  the  waves 
of  the  Hellespont. 

My  limb  now  allows  me  to  sit  in  some  peace : 
to  walk  I  have  yet  no  prospect  of,  as  I  can't 
mark  it  to  the  ground. 

I  have  just  now  looked  over  what  I  have 
written,  and  it  is  such  a  chaos  of  nonsense  that 


Letters.  43 

I  daresay  you  will  throw  it  into  the  fire,  and  call 
me  an  idle,  stupid  fellow ;  but  whatever  you  may 
think  of  my  brains,  believe  me  to  be,  with  the 
most  sacred  respect  and  heartfelt  esteem. 

My  dear  Madam,  your  humble  Servant, 

Robert  Burns. 

No.  V. 

To  Clarinda. 

Friday  Evening  ^December  21]. 
I  BEG  your  pardon,  my  dear  "  Clarinda,"  for 
the  fragment  scrawl  I  sent  you  yesterday.  I 
really  do  not  know  what  I  wrote.  A  gentleman 
for  whose  character,  abilities,  and  critical  know- 
ledge I  have  the  highest  veneration,  called  in 
just  as  I  had  begun  the  second  sentence,  and  I 
would  not  make  the  porter  wait.  I  read  to  my 
much-respected  friend  several  of  my  own  baga- 
telles, and,  among  others,  your  lines,  which  I 
had  copied  out.  He  began  some  criticisms  on 
them  as  on  the  other  pieces,  when  I  informed 
him  they  were  the  work  of  a  young  lady  in  this 
town,  which,  I  assure  you,  made  him  stare.  My 
learned  friend  seriously  protested  that  he  did 


44  Burns'  Clarmda. 

not  believe  any  young  woman  in  Edinburgh 
was  capable  of  such  lines ;  and  if  you  know 
anything  of  Professor  Gregory,  you  will  neither 
doubt  of  his  abilities  nor  his  sincerity.  I  do 
love  you,  if  possible,  still  better  for  having  so 
fine  a  taste  and  turn  for  poesy.  I  have  again 
gone  wrong  in  my  usual  unguarded  way,  but 
you  may  erase  the  word,  and  put  esteem,  respect, 
or  any  other  tame  Dutch  expression  you  please 
in  its  -place.  I  believe  there  is  no  holding  con- 
verse, or  carrying  on  correspondence,  with  an 
amiable  woman,  much  less  a  gloriously  amiable 
fine  woman,  without  some  mixture  of  that 
delicious  passion  whose  most  devoted  slave  I 
have  more  than  once  had  the  honour  of  being. 
But  why  be  hurt  or  offended  on  that  account  ? 
Can  no  honest  man  have  a  prepossession  for  a 
fine  woman,  but  he  must  run  his  head  against 
an  intrigue  ?  Take  a  little  of  the  tender  witch- 
craft of  love,  and  add  to  it  the  generous,  the 
honourable  sentiments  of  manly  friendship,  and 
I  know  but  one  more  delightful  morsel,  which 
few,  few  in  any  rank  ever  taste.  Such  a  com- 
position is  like  adding  cream  to  strawberries : 
it  not  only  gives  the  fruit  a  more  elegant  rich- 
ness, but  has  a  peculiar  deliciousness  of  its  own. 


Letters.  45 

I  enclose  you  a  io.^  lines  I  composed  on  a  late 
melancholy  occasion.*  I  will  not  give  above 
five  or  six  copies  of  it  at  all,  and  I  would  be 
hurt  if  any  friend  should  give  any  copies  without 
my  consent. 

You  cannot  imagine,  Clarinda  (I  like  the  idea 
of  Arcadian  names  in  a  commerce  of  this  kind), 
how  much  store  I  have  set  by  the  hopes  of  your 
future  friendship.  I  do  not  know  if  you  have 
a  just  idea  of  my  character,  but  I  wish  you  to 
see  me  as  I  am.  I  am,  as  most  people  of  my 
trade  are,  a  strange  Will-o'-wisp  being ;  the 
victim,  too  frequently,  of  much  imprudence  and 
many  follies.  My  great  constituent  elements  are 
pride  and  passion.  The  first  I  have  endeavoured 
to  humanise  into  integrity  and  honour ;  the 
last  makes  me  a  devotee  to  the  warmest  degree 
of  enthusiasm  in  love,  religion,  or  friendship — 
either  of  them-,  or  all  together,  as  I  happen  to  be 
inspired.  'Tis  true  I  never  saw  you  but  once ; 
but  how  much  acquaintance  did  I  form  with  you 
in  that  once !  Do  not  think  I  flatter  you,  or 
have  a  design  upon  you,  Clarinda :  I  have  too 


*  Probably  the  verses  on  the  Death  of  the  Lord  Pre- 
sident. 


46  Burns'  Clarinda. 

much  pride  for  the  one,  and  too  little  cold 
contrivance  for  the  other ;  but  of  all  God's 
creatures  I  ever  could  approach  in  the  beaten 
way  of  my  acquaintance,  you  struck  me  with  the 
deepest,  the  strongest,  the  most  permanent  im- 
pression. I  say  the  most  permanent,  because  I 
know  myself  well,  and  how  far  I  can  promise 
either  in  my  prepossessions  or  powers.  Why 
are  you  unhappy?  And  why  are  so  many  of 
our  fellow-creatures,  unworthy  to  belong  to  the 
same  species  with  you,  blest  with  all  they  can 
wish  ?  You  have  a  hand  all  benevolent  to  give  : 
why  were  you  denied  the  pleasure  ?  You  have 
a  heart  formed — gloriously  formed — for  all  the 
most  refined  luxuries  of  love :  why  was  that 
heart  ever  wrung  ?  Oh  Clarinda  !  shall  we  not 
meet  in  a  state,  some  yet  unknown  state  of 
being,  where  the  lavish  hand  of  plenty  shall 
minister  to  the  highest  wish  of  benevolence,  and 
where  the  chill  north  wind  of  prudence  shall 
never  blow  over  the  flowery  fields  of  enjoyment  ? 
If  we  do  not,  man  was  made  in  vain  !  I  deserve 
most  of  the  unhappy  hours  that  have  lingered 
over  my  head ;  they  were  the  wages  of  my 
labour :  but  what  unprovoked  demon,  malignant 
as  hell,  stole  upon  the  confidence  of  unmistrust- 


Letters.  47 

ing  busy  fate,  and  dashed  your  cup  of  life  with 

undeserved  sorrow  ? 

Let  me  know  how  long  your  stay  will  be  out 

of  town ;  I  shall  count  the  hours  till  you  inform 

me  of  your  return.     Cursed  etiquette  forbids  your 

seeing  me  just  now ;  and  so  soon  as  I  can  walk 

I  must  bid  Edinburgh  adieu.     Lord  !  why  was  I 

born  to  see  misery  which  I  cannot  relieve,  and 

to  meet  with  friends  whom  I  cannot  enjoy  ?     I 

look  back  with  the  pang  of  unavailing  avarice 

on  my  loss  in  not  knowing  you  sooner :  all  last 

winter,  these  three  months  past,  what  luxury  of 

intercourse  have  I  not  lost!     Perhaps,  though, 

'twas  better  for  my  peace.     You  see  I  am  either 

above  or  incapable  of  dissimulation.     I  believe 

it  is  want  of  that  particular  genius.     I  despise 

design,  because  I  want  either  coolness  or  wisdom 

to  be  capable  of  it.     I  am  interrupted.     Adieu, 

my  dear  Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 

No.  VI. 

To  Clarinda. 

My  dear  Clarinda, 

Your  last  verses  have  so  delighted  me,  that 
I  have  copied  them  in  among  some  of  my  own 


48  Burns*  Clarinda. 

most  valued  pieces,  which  I  keep  sacred  for  my 
own  use.     Do  let  me  have  a  few  now  and  then. 

Did  you,  Madam,  know  what  I  feel  when  you 
talk  of  your  sorrows  ! 

Good  God  !  that  one  who  has  so  much  worth 
in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  and  is  so  amiable  to  her 
fellow-creatures,  should  be  so  unhappy.  I  can't 
venture  out  for  cold.  My  limb  is  vastly  better ; 
but  I  have  not  any  use  of  it  without  my  crutches. 
Monday,  for  the  first  time,  I  dine  at  a  neigh- 
bour's, next  door.  As  soon  as  I  can  go  so  far, 
even  in  a  coach^  my  first  visit  shall  be  to  you. 
Write  me  when  you  leave  town,  and  immediately 
when  you  return ;  and  I  earnestly  pray  your 
stay  may  be  short.  You  can't  imagine  how 
miserable  you  made  me  when  you  hinted  to  me 

not  to  write.     Farewell. 

Sylvander. 

No.  VII. 
To  Clarinda. 

[After  New  Year's  Day,  1788.] 
You  are  right,  my  dear  Clarinda :  a  friendly 
correspondence   goes   for    nothing,   except  one 
write     their     undisguised    sentiments.      Yours 


Letters,  49 

please  me  for  their  intrinsic  merit,  as  well  as 
because  they  dSQ  yours,  which,  I  assure  you,  is  to 
me  a  high  recommendation.  Your  religious  sen- 
timents, Madam,  I  revere.  If  you  have,  on  some 
suspicious  evidence,  from  some  lying  oracle 
learned  that  I  despise  or  ridicule  so  sacredly 
important  a  matter  as  real  religion,  you  have, 
my  Clarinda,  much  misconstrued  your  friend  ; — 
"  I  am  not  mad,  most  noble  Festus ! "  Have 
you  ever  met  a  perfect  character  ?  Do  we  not 
sometimes  rather  exchange  faults  than  get  rid 
of  them?  For  instance,  I  am  perhaps  tired 
with  and  shocked  at  a  life  too  much  the  prey 
of  giddy  inconsistencies  and  thoughtless  follies  ; 
by  degrees  I  grow  sober,  prudent,  and  statedly 
pious — I  say  statedly,  because  the  most  un- 
affected devotion  is  not  at  all  inconsistent  with 
my  first  character — I  join  the  world  in  congratu- 
lating myself  on  the  happy  change.  But  let  me 
pry  more  narrowly  into  this  affair.  Have  I, 
at  bottom,  anything  of  a  secret  pride  in  these 
endowments  and  emendations  ?  Have  I  nothing 
of  a  Presbyterian  sourness,  a  hypocritical  seve- 
rity, when  I  survey  my  less  regular  neighbours  ? 
In  a  word,  have  I  missed  all  those  nameless  and 
numberless  modifications  of  indistinct  selfishness 
D 


50  Bums'  Clarhida. 

which  are  so  near  our  own  eyes,  we  can  scarcely 
bring  them  within  the  sphere  of  our  vision,  and 
which  the  known  spotless  cambric  of  our  char- 
acter hides  from  the  ordinary  observer. 

My  definition  of  worth  is  short :  truth  and 
humanity  respecting  our  fellow-creatures  ;  rever- 
ence and  humility  in  the  presence  of  that  Being, 
my  Creator  and  Preserver,  and  who,  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe,  will  one  day  be  my 
Judge.  The  first  part  of  my  definition  is  the 
creature  of  unbiassed  instinct ;  the  last  is  the 
child  of  after  reflection.  Where  I  found  these 
two  essentials,  I  would  gently  note,  and  slightly 
mention,  any  attendant  flaws — flaws,  the  marks, 
the  consequences  of  human  nature. 

I  can  easily  enter  into  the  sublime  pleasures 
that  your  strong  imagination  and  keen  sensi- 
bility must  derive  from  religion,  particularly  if  a 
little  in  the  shade  of  misfortune  ;  but  I  own  I 
cannot,  without  a  marked  grudge,  see  Heaven 
totally  engross  so  amiable,  so  charming  a  woman, 
as  my  friend  Clarinda ;  and  should  be  very  well 
pleased  at  a  circumstance  that  would  put  it  in 
the  power  of  somebody  (happy  somebody !)  to 
divide  her  attention,  with  all  the  delicacy  and 
tenderness  of  an  earthly  attachment. 


Letters.  5 1 

You  will  not  easily  persuade  me  that  you 
have  not  a  grammatical  knowledge  of  the  Eng- 
lish language.  So  far  from  being  inaccurate, 
you  are  elegant  beyond  any  woman  of  my 
acquaintance,  except  one,  whom  I  wish  you 
knew. 

Your  last  verses  to  me  have  so  delighted  me, 
that  I  have  got  an  excellent  old  Scots  air  that 
suits  the  measure,  and  you  shall  see  them  in 
print  in  the  "Scots  Musical  Museum,"  a  work  pub- 
lishing by  a  friend  of  mine  in  this  town.  I  want 
four  stanzas ;  you  gave  me  but  three,  and  one 
of  them  alluded  to  an  expression  in  my  former 
letter ;  so  I  have  taken  your  two  first  verses, 
with  a  slight  alteration  in  the  second,  and  have 
added  a  third  ;  but  you  must  help  me  to  a  fourth. 
Here  they  are  :  the  latter  half  of  the  first  stanza 
would  have  been  worthy  of  Sappho  ;  I  am  in 
raptures  with  it. 

"  Talk  not  of  Love,  it  gives  me  pain. 
For  Love  has  been  my  foe  : 
He  bound  me  with  an  iron  chain, 
And  sunk  me  deep  in  woe. 

"  But  Friendship's  pure  and  lasting  joys 
My  heart  was  form'd  to  prove  : 
There,  welcome,  win  and  wear  the  prize, 
But  never  talk  of  love." 


52  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Your  friendship  much  can  make  me  blest, 
O  why  that  bliss  destroy? 
[only] 
Why  urge  the  odious  one  request, 
[will] 
You  know  I  must  deny  ? 

The  alteration  in  the  second  stanza  is  no 
improvement,  but  there  was  a  slight  inaccuracy 
in  your  rhyme.  The  third  I  only  offer  to  your 
choice,  and  have  left  two  words  for  your  deter- 
mination. The  air  is  "  The  Banks  of  Spey," 
and  is  most  beautiful. 

To-morrow  evening  I  intend  taking  a  chair, 
and  paying  a  visit  at  Park  Place  to  a  much- 
valued  old  friend.  If  I  could  be  sure  of  finding 
you  at  home  (and  I  will  send  one  of  the  chair- 
men to  call),  I  would  spend  from  five  to  six 
o'clock  with  you,  as  I  go  past.  I  cannot  do 
more  at  this  time,  as  I  have  something  on  my 
hand  that  hurries  me  much.  I  propose  giving 
you  the  first  call,  my  old  friend  the  second,  and 

Miss  ,  as   I   return  home.     Do  not  break 

any  engagement  for  me,  as  I  will  spend  another 
evening  with  you  at  any  rate  before  I  leave 
town. 

Do  not  tell  me  that  you  are  pleased  when 
your  friends  inform  you  of  your  faults.     I  am 


Letters.  53 

ignorant  what  they  are ;  but  I  am  sure  they 
must  be  such  evanescent  trifles,  compared  with 
your  personal  and  mental  accomplishments,  that 
I  would  despise  the  ungenerous  narrow  soul  who 
would  notice  any  shadow  of  imperfections  you 
may  seem  to  have  any  other  way  than  in  the 
most  delicate  agreeable  raillery.  Coarse  minds 
are  not  aware  how  much  they  injure  the  keenly- 
feeling  tie  of  bosom-friendship,  when,  in  their 
foolish  officiousness,  they  mention  what  nobody 
cares  for  recollecting.  People  of  nice  sensibility 
and  generous  minds  have  a  certain  intrinsic 
dignity,  that  fires  at  being  trifled  with,  or 
lowered,  or  even  too  nearly  approached. 

You  need  make  no  apology  for  long  letters  : 
I  am  even  with  you.  Many  happy  new-years 
to  you,  charming  Clarinda !  I  can't  dissemble, 
were  it  to  shun  perdition.  He  who  sees  you  as 
I  have  done,  and  does  not  love  you,  deserves  to 
be  damned  for  his  stupidity !  He  who  loves 
you,  and  would  injure  you,  deserves  to  be  doubly 
damned  for  his  villany !     Adieu. 

Sylvander. 

P.S. — What  would  you  think  of  this  for  a 
fourth  stanza  ? 


54  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Your  thought,  if  love  must  harbour  there, 

Conceal  it  in  that  thought, 
Nor  cause  me  from  my  bosom  tear 

The  very  friend  I  sought. 


No.  VIII. 
To  Clarinda. 

Some  days,  some  nights,  nay,  some  hours, 
like  the  "  ten  righteous  persons  in  Sodom,"  save 
the  rest  of  the  vapid,  tiresome,  miserable  months 
and  years  of  life.  One  of  these  hours  my  dear 
Clarinda  blest  me  with  yesternight. 

"  One  well-spent  hour, 
In  such  a  tender  circumstance  for  friends. 
Is  better  than  an  age  of  common  time  !" — Thomson. 

My  favourite  feature  in  Milton's  Satan  is  his 
manly  fortitude  in  supporting  what  cannot  be 
remedied — in  short,  the  wild  broken  fragments 
of  a  noble  exalted  mind  in  ruins.  I  meant  no 
more  by  saying  he  was  a  favourite  hero  of 
mine. 

I  mentioned  to  you  my  letter  to  Dr  Moore, 
giving  an  account  of  my  life :  it  is  truth,  every 
word  of  it,  and  will  give  you  a  just  idea  of  the 


Letters.  55 

man  whom  you  have  honoured  with  your  friend- 
ship. I  am  afraid  you  will  hardly  be  able  to 
make  sense  of  so  torn  a  piece.  Your  verses  I 
shall  muse  on  deliciously,  as  I  gaze  on  your 
image  in  my  mind's  eye,  in  my  heart's  core  : 
they  will  be  in  time  enough  for  a  week  to  come. 
I  am  truly  happy  your  headache  is  better.  Oh, 
how  can  pain  or  evil  be  so  daringly  unfeeling, 
cruelly  savage  as  to  wound  so  noble  a  mind,  so 
lovely  a  form ! 

My  little  fellow  is  all  my  namesake.  Write 
me  soon.  My  every,  strongest  good  wishes 
attend  you,  Clarinda ! 

Sylvan  DER. 

I  know  not  what  I  have  written,  I  am  pes- 
tered with  people  around  me. 


No.  IX. 
To  Clarinda. 

Tuesday  Night  [January  8  ?]. 
I  AM  delighted,  charming  Clarinda,  with  your 
honest  enthusiasm  for  religion.     Those  of  either 
sex,  but  particularly  the  female,  who  are  luke- 


56  Burns'  Clarinda. 

warm  in  that  most  important  of  all  things,  "  O 
my  soul,  come  not  thou  into  their  secrets  ! " 
I  feel  myself  deeply  interested  in  your  good 
opinion,  and  will  lay  before  you  the  outlines  of 
my  belief.  He  who  is  our  Author  and  Pre- 
server, and  will  one  day  be  our  Judge,  must  be 
(not  for  His  sake  in  the  way  of  duty,  but  from 
the  native  impulse  of  our  hearts)  the  object  of 
our  reverential  awe  and  grateful  adoration  ;  He 
is  almighty  and  all-bounteous,  we  are  weak  and 
dependent ;  hence  prayer  and  every  other  sort 

of  devotion. "  He   is   not   willing  that   any 

should  perish,  but  that  all  should  come  to  ever- 
lasting life ; "  consequently  it  must  be  in  every 
one's  power  to  embrace  His  offer  of  "  everlasting 
life " ;  otherwise  He  could  not,  in  justice,  con- 
demn those  who  did  not.  A  mind  pervaded, 
actuated,  and  governed  by  purity,  truth,  and 
charity,  though  it  does  not  merit  heaven,  yet  is 
an  absolutely  necessary  prerequisite,  without 
which  heaven  can  neither  be  obtained  nor  en- 
joyed ;  and,  by  Divine  promise,  such  a  mind 
shall  never  fail  of  attaining  "  everlasting  life  " : 
hence  the  impure,  the  deceiving,  and  the  un- 
charitable extrude  themselves  from  eternal  bliss, 
by  their  unfitness  for  enjoying  it.    The  Supreme 


Letters.  57 

Being  has  put  the  immediate  administration  of 
all  this,  for  wise  and  good  ends  known  to  Him- 
self, into  the  hands  of  Jesus  Christ — a  great 
personage,  whose  relation  to  Him  we  cannot 
comprehend,  but  whose  relation  to  us  is  [that 
of]  a  guide  and  Saviour ;  and  who,  except  for 
our  own  obstinacy  and  misconduct,  will  bring  us 
all  through  various  ways,  and  by  various  means, 
to  bliss  at  last. 

These  are  my  tenets,  my  lovely  friend  ;  and 
which,  I  think,  cannot  be  well  disputed.  My 
creed  is  pretty  nearly  expressed  in  the  last 
clause  of  Jamie  Deans's  grace,  an  honest  weaver 
in  Ayrshire :  "  Lord,  grant  that  we  may  lead  a 
gude  life !  for  a  gude  life  makes  a  gude  end  ;  at 
least  it  helps  weel." 

I  am  flattered  by  the  entertainment  you  tell 
me  you  have  found  in  my  packet.  You  see  me 
as  I  have  been,  you  know  me  as  I  am,  and  may 
guess  at  what  I  am  likely  to  be.  I  too  may 
say,  "  Talk  not  of  love,"  &c.,  for  indeed  he  has 
"  plunged  me  deep  in  woe ! "  Not  that  I  ever 
saw  a  woman  who  pleased  unexceptionably,  as 
my  Clarinda  elegantly  says,  "  in  the  companion, 
the  friend,  and  the  mistress."  One  indeed  I 
could  except — one^  before  passion  threw  its  mists 


58  Burns'  Clarinda. 

over  my  discernment,  I  knew  the  first  of  women! 
Her  name  is  indelibly  written  in  my  heart's  core 
— but  I  dare  not  look  in  on  it — a  degree  of 
agony  would  be  the  consequence.  Oh,  thou 
perfidious,  cruel,  mischief-making  demon,  who 
presidest  over  that  frantic  passion — thou  mayst, 
thou  dost  poison  my  peace,  but  thou  shalt  not 
taint  my  honour  —  I  would  not,  for  a  single 
moment,  give  an  asylum  to  the  most  distant 
imagination,  that  would  shadow  the  faintest 
outline  of  a  selfish  gratification,  at  the  expense 
of  her    whose    happiness   is   twisted    with    the 

threads  of  my  existence. May   she   be   as 

happy  as  she  deserves !  And  if  my  tenderest, 
faithfulest  friendship  can  add  to  her  bliss,  I  shall 
at  least  have  one  solid  mine  of  enjoyment  in  my 
bosom.     Don!t  guess  at  these  ravings  ! 

I  watched  at  our  front  window  to-day,  but 
was  disappointed.*  It  has  been  a  day  of  disap- 
pointments. I  am  just  risen  from  a  two  hours' 
bout  after  supper,  with  silly  or  sordid  souls,  who 
could  relish  nothing  in  common  with  me  but  the 

*  Mrs  M'Lehose  had  promised  to  pass  through  his 
Square  about  two  in  the  afternoon,  and  give  him  a  nod 
if  he  were  at  the  window  of  his  room  and  she  could 
discover  it. 


Letters.  59 

port. One 'Tis  now  "  witching  time  of 

night "  ;  and  whatever  is  out  of  joint  in  the  fore- 
going scrawl,  impute  it  to  enchantments  and 
spells ;  for  I  can't  look  over  it,  but  will  seal 
it  up  directly,  as  I  don't  care  for  to-morrow's 
criticisms  on  it. 

You  are  by  this  time  fast  asleep,  Clarinda ; 
may  good  angels  attend  and  guard  you  as  con- 
stantly as  my  good  wishes  do  ! 

"  Beauty,  which,  whether  waking  or  asleep, 
Shot  forth  pecuHar  graces." 

John  Milton,  I  wish  thy  soul  better  rest  than 
I  expect  on  my  pillow  to-night.  Oh,  for  a  little 
of  the  cart-horse  part  of  human  nature !  Good- 
night, my  dearest  Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 


No.  X. 
To  Clarinda. 

Thursday  Noon  \ January  \oT\. 
I  AM  certain  I  saw  you,  Clarinda ;  but  you  don't 
look  to  the  proper  story  for  a  poet's  lodging — 

"  Where  Speculation  roosted  near  the  sky." 

I  could  almost  have  thrown  myself  over  for  very 


6o  Burns'  Clarinda. 

vexation.  Why  didn't  you  look  higher  ?  It  has 
spoilt  my  peace  for  this  day.  To  be  so  near  my 
charming  Clarinda  ;  to  miss  her  look  while  it 
was  searching  for  me !  I  am  sure  the  soul  is 
capable  of  disease,  for  mine  has  convulsed  itself 
into  an  inflammatory  fever.  I  am  sorry  for  your 
little  boy:  do  let  me  know  to-morrow  how  he  is. 

You  have  converted  me,  Clarinda  (I  shall  love 
that  name  while  I  live :  there  is  heavenly  music 
in  it !).  Booth  and  Amelia  I  know  well.  Your 
sentiments  on  that  subject,  as  they  are  on  every 
subject,  are  just  and  noble.  "  To  be  feelingly 
alive  to  kindness  and  to  unkindness "  is  a 
charming  female  character. 

What  I  said  in  my  last  letter,  the  powers  of 
fuddling  sociality  only  know  for  me.  By  yours, 
I  understand  my  good  star  has  been  partly  in 
my  horizon  when  I  got  wild  in  my  reveries. 
Had  that  evil  planet,  which  has  almost  all  my 
life  shed  its  baleful  rays  on  my  devoted  head, 
been  as  usual  in  its  zenith,  I  had  certainly 
blabbed  something  that  would  have  pointed  out 
to  you  the  dear  object  of  my  tenderest  friend- 
ship, and,  in  spite  of  me,  something  more.  Had 
that  fatal  information  escaped  me,  and  it  was 
merely  chance  or  kind  stars  that   it   did    not, 


Letters.  6i 

T  had  been  undone.  You  would  never  have 
written  me,  except,  perhaps,  once  more.  Oh,  I 
could  cur^e  circumstances !  and  the  coarse  tie 
of  human  laws  which  keeps  fast  what  common 
sense  would  loose,  and  which  bars  that  happi- 
ness itself  cannot  give — happiness  which  other- 
wise love  and  honour  would  warrant !  But  hold 
— I  shall  make  no  more  "  hairbreadth  'scapes." 

My  friendship,  Clarinda,  is  a  life-rent  business. 
My  likings  are  both  strong  and  eternal.  I  told 
you  I  had  but  one  male  friend :  I  have  but  two 
female.  I  should  have  a  third,  but  she  is  sur- 
rounded by  the  blandishments  of  flattery  and 
courtship.  Her  I  register  in  my  heart's  core  by 
Peggy  Chalmers  :  Miss  Nimmo  can  tell  you  how 
divine  she  is.  She  is  worthy  of  a  place  in  the 
same  bosom  with  my  Clarinda.  That  is  the 
highest  compliment  I  can  pay  her.      Farewell, 

Clarinda !     Remember 

Sylvander. 

No.  XI. 
To  Clarinda. 

Saturday  Morning. 
Your  thoughts  on  religion,  Clarinda,  shall  be 
welcome.     You  may  perhaps  distrust  me  when 


62  Burns'  Clarinda. 

I  say  'tis  also  my  favourite  topic ;  but  mine  is 
the  religion  of  the  bosom.  I  hate  the  very  idea 
of  a  controversial  divinity ;  as  I  firmly  believe, 
that  every  honest,  upright  man,  of  whatever  sect, 
will  be  accepted  of  the  Deity.  If  your  verses,  as 
you  seem  to  hint,  contain  censure,  except  you 
want  an  occasion  to  break  with  me,  don't  send 
them.  I  have  a  little  infirmity  in  my  disposi- 
tion, that  where  I  fondly  love,  or  highly  esteem, 
I  cannot  bear  reproach. 

"  Reverence  thyself"  is  a  sacred  maxim,  and 
I  wish  to  cherish  it.  I  think  I  told  you  Lord 
Bolingbroke's  saying  to  Swift  —  "  Adieu,  dear 
Swift,  with  all  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  entirely ; 
make  an  effort  to  love  me  with  all  mine."  A 
glorious  sentiment,  and  without  which  there  can 
be  no  friendship.  I  do  highly,  very  highly 
esteem  you  indeed,  Clarinda — you  merit  it  all. 
Perhaps,  too,  I  scorn  dissimulation.  I  could 
fondly  love  you  ;  judge,  then,  what  a  madden- 
ing sting  your  reproach  would  be.  "  Oh,  I  have 
sins  to  Heaven^  but  none  to  you  !  "  With  what 
pleasure  would  I  meet  you  to-day,  but  I  cannot 
walk  to  meet  the  Fly.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  see 
you  on  foot,  about  the  middle  of  next  week. 

I  am  interrupted — perhaps  you  are  not  sorry 


Letters.  63 

for  it,  you  will  tell  me — but  I  won't  anticipate 
blame.  Oh  Clarinda !  did  you  know  how  dear 
to  me  is  your  look  of  kindness,  your  smile  of 
approbation,  you  would  not,  either  in  prose  or 
verse,  risk  a  censorious  remark. 

"  Curst  be  the  verse,  how  well  soe'er  it  flow, 
That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe  ! " 

Sylvander. 


No.  XII. 
To  Clarinda. 

You  talk  of  weeping,  Clarinda :  some  in- 
voluntary drops  wet  your  lines  as  I  read  them. 
Offend  me,  my  dearest  angel !  You  cannot 
offend  me — you  never  offended  me.  If  you  had 
ever  given  me  the  least  shadow  of  offence,  so 
pardon  me,  my  God,  as  I  forgive  Clarinda.  I 
have  read  yours  again  ;  it  has  blotted  my  paper. 
Though  I  find  your  letter  has  agitated  me  into 
a  violent  headache,  I  shall  take  a  chair  and  be 
with  you  about  eight.  A  friend  is  to  be  with  us 
at  tea,  on  my  account,  which  hinders  me  from 
coming  sooner.  Forgive,  my  dearest  Clarinda, 
my  unguarded  expressions.     For  Heaven's  sake, 


64  Bums'  Clarinda. 

forgive  me,  or  I  shall  never  be  able  to  bear  my 
own  mind. 

Your  unhappy 

Sylvander. 


No.  XIII. 
To  Clarinda. 

Monday  Even,  1 1  d clock. 
Why  have  I  not  heard  from  you,  Clarinda? 
To-day  I  expected  it ;  and  before  supper,  when 
a  letter  to  me  was  announced,  my  heart  danced 
with  rapture :  but  behold,  it  was  some  fool,  who 
had  taken  it  into  his  head  to  turn  poet,  and 
made  me  an  offering  of  the  first-fruits  of  his 
nonsense.  "It  is  not  poetry,  but  prose  run 
mad."  Did  I  ever  repeat  to  you  an  epigram  I 
made  on  a  Mr  Elphinstone,  who  has  given  a 
translation  of  Martial,  a  famous  Latin  poet  ? 
The  poetry  of  Elphinstone  can  only  equal  his 
prose  notes.  I  was  sitting  in  a  merchant's  shop 
of  my  acquaintance,  waiting  somebody ;  he  put 
Elphinstone  into  my  hand,  and  asked  my 
opinion  of  it ;  I  begged  leave  to  write  it  on  a 
blank  leaf,  which  I  did — 


Letters.  65 

TO   MR  ELPHINSTONE,   ETC. 

Oh  thou,  whom  Poesy  abhors  ! 
Whom  Prose  has  turned  out  of  doors  ! 
Heard'st  thou  yon  groan  ? — proceed  no  further  ! 
'Twas  laurelled  Martial  calling  murther  ! 

I  am  determined  to  see  you,  if  at  all  possible, 
on  Saturday  evening.    Next  week  I  must  sing — 

The  night  is  my  departing  night, 
The  mom's  the  day  I  maun  awa' ; 

There's  neither  friend  nor  foe  o'  mine 
But  wishes  that  I  were  awa' ! 

What  I  hae  done  for  lack  o'  wit, 

I  never,  never  can  reca'  ; 
I  hope  ye're  a'  my  friends  as  yet — 

Gude  night,  and  joy  be  wi'  you  a' ! 

If  I  could  see  you  sooner,  I  would  be  so  much 
the  happier ;  but  I  would  not  purchase  the 
dearest  gratification  on  earth,  if  it  must  be  at 
your  expense  in  worldly  censure,  far  less  inward 
peace. 

I  shall  certainly  be  ashamed  of  thus  scrawling 
whole  sheets  of  incoherence.  The  only  unity  (a 
sad  word  with  poets  and  critics !)  in  my  ideas  is 
Clarinda.    There  my  heart  "reigns  and  revels !" 

"  What  art  thou.  Love  ?  whence  are  those  charms, 
That  thus  thou  bear'st  an  universal  rule  ? 
For  thee  the  soldier  quits  his  arms. 
The  king  turns  slave,  the  wise  man  fool. 
£ 


66  Burns'  Clarinda. 

In  vain  we  chase  thee  from  the  field, 
And  with  cool  thoughts  resist  thy  yoke  : 

Next  tide  of  blood,  alas,  we  yield. 
And  all  those  high  resolves  are  broke  ! " 

I  like  to  have  quotations  for  every  occasion. 
They  give  one's  ideas  so  pat,  and  save  one  the 
trouble  of  finding  expression  adequate  to  one's 
feelings.  I  think  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  plea- 
sures attending  a  poetic  genius,  that  we  can  give 
our  woes,  cares,  joys,  loves,  &c.,  an  embodied 
form  in  verse,  which  to  me  is  ever  immediate 
ease.     Goldsmith  says  finely  of  his  Muse — 

"  Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss  and  all  my  woe. 
Thou  found'st  me  poor  at  first,  and  keep'st  me  so." 

My  limb  has  been  so  well  to-day,  that  I  have 
gone  up  and  down  stairs  often  without  my  staff. 
To-morrow  I  hope  to  walk  once  again  on  my 
own   legs   to   dinner.      It   is   only  next   street. 

^^^^"'  Sylvander. 

No.  XIV. 
To  Clarinda. 

Tuesday  Evening  [January  1 5  ?], 
That  you  have  faults,  my  Clarinda,  I   never 
doubted  ;  but  I  knew  not  where  they  existed. 


Letters.  6y 

and  Saturday  night  made  me  more  in  the  dark 
than  ever.  Oh  Clarinda !  why  will  you  wound 
my  soul  by  hinting  that  last  night  must  have 
lessened  my  opinion  of  you  ?  True,  I  was 
"  behind  the  scenes "  with  you  ;  but  what  did 
I  see?  A  bosom  glowing  with  honour  and 
benevolence ;  a  mind  ennobled  by  genius,  in- 
formed and  refined  by  education  and  reflection, 
and  exalted  by  native  religion,  genuine  as  in 
the  climes  of  heaven  ;  a  heart  formed  for  all  the 
glorious  meltings  of  friendship,  love,  and  pity. 
These  I  saw :  I  saw  the  noblest  immortal  soul 
creation  ever  showed  me. 

I  looked  long,  my  dear  Clarinda,  for  your 
letter ;  and  am  vexed  that  you  are  complaining. 
I  have  not  caught  you  so  far  wrong  as  in  your 
idea,  that  the  commerce  you  have  with  one 
friend  hurts  you  if  you  cannot  tell  every  tittle 
of  it  to  another.  Why  have  so  injurious  a  sus- 
picion of  a  good  God,  Clarinda,  as  to  think 
that  Friendship  and  Love,  on  the  sacred  in- 
violate principles  of  Truth,  Honour,  and  Reli- 
gion, can  be  anything  else  than  an  object  of 
His  divine  approbation  ? 

I  have  mentioned  in  some  of  my  former 
scrawls,  Saturday  evening  next.     Do  allow  me 


68  Burns'  Clarinda. 

to  wait  on  you  that  evening.      Oh,  my  angel ! 

how  soon   must   we  part !    and   when   can   we 

meet    again !      I    look   forward   on   the   horrid 

interval  with  tearful   eyes.      What  have   I  lost 

by  not  knowing  you   sooner?      I   fear,    I   fear 

my  acquaintance  with  you  is  too  short,  to  make 

that  lasting  impression   on  your  heart  I  could 

wish. 

Sylvan  DER. 

No.  XV. 
To  Clarinda. 

Sunday  Night  {^January  20  ?]. 
The  impertinence  of  fools  has  joined  with 
a  return  of  an  old  indisposition  to  make  me 
good  for  nothing  to-day.  The  paper  has  lain 
before  me  all  this  evening  to  write  to  my  dear 
Clarinda ;  but 

"  Fools  rush'd  on  fools,  as  waves  succeed  to  waves." 

I  cursed  them  in  my  soul :  they  sacrilegiously 
disturb  my  meditations  on  her  who  holds  my 
heart.  What  a  creature  is  man  !  A  little  alarm 
last  night  and  to-day  that  I  am  mortal,  has 
made  such   a   revolution    in   my  spirits !    there 


Letters.  6g 

is  no  philosophy,  no  divinity,  comes  half  so 
home  to  the  mind.  I  have  no  idea  of  the 
courage  that  braves  Heaven.  'Tis  the  wild 
ravings  of  an  imaginary  hero  in  Bedlam.  I 
can  no  more,  Clarinda ;  I  can  scarce  hold  up 
my  head ;  but  I  am  happy  you  don't  know  it, 
you  would  be  so  uneasy. 

Sylvan  DER. 

Monday  Morning. 
I   am,   my   lovely   friend,    much    better   this 
morning,   on  the   whole ;   but   I  have  a  horrid 
languor  on  my  spirits — 

"  Sick  of  the  world  and  all  its  joy, 
My  soul  in  pining  sadness  mourns  : 
Dark  scenes  of  woe  my  mind  employ, 
The  past  and  present  in  their  turns." 

Have  you  ever  met  with  a  saying  of  the  great 
and  likewise  good  Mr  Locke,  author  of  the 
famous  "  Essay  on  the  Human  Understand- 
ing "  ?  He  wrote  a  letter  to  a  friend,  directing 
it  "  Not  to  be  delivered  till  after  my  decease." 
It  ended  thus : — "  I  know  you  loved  me  when 
living,  and  will  preserve  my  memory  now  I  am 
dead.  All  the  use  to  be  made  of  it  is — that 
this   life   affords   no    solid    satisfaction,   but   in 


70  Burns'  Clarinda. 

the  consciousness  of  having  done  well,  and  the 
hopes  of  another  life.  Adieu  !  I  leave  my  best 
wishes  with  you. — ^J.  LoCKE." 

Clarinda,  may  I  reckon  on  your  friendship  for 
life  ?  I  think  I  may.  Thou  Almighty  Pre- 
server of  men !  Thy  friendship,  which  hitherto 
I  have  too  much  neglected,  to  secure  it  shall  all 
the  future  days  and  nights  of  my  life  be  my 
steady  care !  The  idea  of  my  Clarinda  fol- 
lows : — 

"  Hide  it,  my  heart,  within  that  close  disguise. 
Where,  inix'd  with  God's,  her  loved  idea  lies." 

But  I  fear  inconstancy,  the  consequent  imper- 
fection of  human  weakness.  Shall  I  meet  with 
a  friendship  that  defies  years  of  absence,  and 
the  chances  and  changes  of  fortune?  Perhaps 
"  such  things  are."  One  honest  man  I  have 
great  hopes  from,  that  way  ;  but  who,  except 
a  romance  writer,  would  think  on  a  love  that 
could  promise  for  life,  in  spite  of  distance, 
absence,  chance,  and  change  ;  and  that,  too, 
with  slender  hopes  of  fruition?  For  my  own 
part,  I  can  say  to  myself  in  both  requisitions, 
"  Thou  art  the  man  " ;  I  dare  in  cool  resolve,  I 
dare  declare  myself  that  friend  and  that  lover. 
If  womankind  is  capable  of  such  things,  Clar- 


Letters.  yi 

inda  is.  I  trust  that  she  is  ;  and  feel  I  shall 
be  miserable  if  she  is  not.  There  is  not  one 
virtue  which  gives  worth,  or  one  sentiment 
which  does  honour  to  the  sex,  that  she  does 
not  possess  superior  to  any  woman  I  ever  saw : 
her  exalted  mind,  aided  a  little  perhaps  by  her 
situation,  is,  I  think,  capable  of  that  nobly- 
romantic  love-enthusiasm. 

May  I  see  you  on  Wednesday  evening,  my 
dear  angel  ?  The  next  Wednesday  again  will, 
I  conjecture,  be  a  hated  day  to  us  both.  I 
tremble  for  censorious  remarks  for  your  sake ; 
but  in  extraordinary  cases,  may  not  usual  and 
useful  precautions  be  a  little  dispensed  with  ? 
Three  evenings,  three  swift-winged  evenings, 
with  pinions  of  down,  are  all  the  past — I  dare 
not  calculate  the  future.  I  shall  call  at  Miss 
Nimmo's  to-morrow  evening;  'twill  be  a  fare- 
well call. 

I  have  written  out  my  last  sheet  of  paper,  so 
I  am  reduced  to  my  last  half-sheet.  What  a 
strange,  mysterious  faculty  is  that  thing  called 
imagination !  We  have  no  ideas  almost  at  all 
of  another  world ;  but  I  have  often  amused 
myself  with  visionary  schemes  of  what  happi- 
ness might  be  enjoyed   by  small  alterations — 


72  Burns'  Clarinda. 

alterations  that  we  can  fully  enter  to  \sic\  in  this 
present  state  of  existence.  For  instance,  sup- 
pose you  and  I  just  as  we  are  at  present,  the 
same  reasoning  powers,  sentiments,  and  even 
desires ;  the  same  fond  curiosity  for  knowledge 
and  remarking  observation  in  our  minds — and 
imagine  our  bodies  free  from  pain,  and  the 
necessary  supplies  for  the  wants  of  nature  at 
all  times  and  easily  within  our  reach;  imagine 
further  that  we  were  set  free  from  the  laws  of 
gravitation  which  bind  us  to  this  globe,  and 
could  at  pleasure  fly,  without  inconvenience, 
through  all  the  yet  unconjectured  bounds  of 
creation — what  a  life  of  bliss  should  we  lead 
in  our  mutual  pursuit  of  virtue  and  knowledge, 
and  our  mutual  enjoyment  of  friendship  and 
love! 

I  see  you  laughing  at  my  fairy  fancies,  and 
calling  me  a  voluptuous  Mahometan  ;  but  I  am 
certain  I  should  be  a  happy  creature,  beyond 
anything  we  call  bliss  here  below ;  nay,  it  would 
be  a  paradise  congenial  to  you  too.  Don't  you 
see  us  hand  in  hand,  or  rather  my  arm  about 
your  lovely  waist,  making  our  remarks  on  Sirius, 
the  nearest  of  the  fixed  stars ;  or  surveying  a 
comet  flaming  innoxious  by  us,  as  we  just  now 


Letters,  73 

would  mark  the  passing  pomp  of  a  travelling 
monarch ;  or  in  a  shady  bower  of  Mercury  or 
Venus,  dedicating  the  hour  to  love  and  mutual 
converse,  relying  honour,  and  revelling  endear- 
ment— while  the  most  exalted  strains  of  poesy 
and  harmony  would  be  the  ready,  spontaneous 
language  of  our  souls  ?  Devotion  is  the  favour- 
ite employment  of  your  heart,  so  is  it  of  mine ; 
what  incentives  then  to,  and  powers  for  rever- 
ence, gratitude,  faith,  and  hope,  in  all  the 
fervours  of  adoration  and  praise  to  that  Being 
whose  unsearchable  wisdom,  power,  and  good- 
ness, so  pervaded,  so  inspired  every  sense  and 
feeling !  By  this  time,  I  daresay,  you  will  be 
blessing  the  neglect  of  the  maid  that  leaves  me 

destitute  of  paper. 

Sylvander. 

No.  XVI. 
To  Clarinda. 

Thursday  Morning  [January  24?]. 
"  Unlavish  Wisdom  never  works  in  vain." 
I  HAVE  been  tasking  my  reason,  Clarinda,  why 
a  woman,  who,  for  native  genius,  poignant  wit, 
strength  of  mind,  generous  sincerity  of  soul,  and 


74  Burns'  Clarinda. 

the  sweetest  female  tenderness,  is  without  a  peer, 
and  whose  personal  charms  have  few,  very,  very- 
few  parallels  among  her  sex  ;  why,  or  how  she 
should  fall  to  the  blessed  lot  of  a  poor  hairum- 
scairum  poet  whom  Fortune  had  kept  for  her 
particular  use,  to  wreak  her  temper  on  whenever 
she  was  in  ill-humour.  One  time  I  conjectured 
that  as  Fortune  is  the  most  capricious  jade  ever 
known,  she  may  have  taken,  not  a  fit  of  remorse, 
but  a  paroxysm  of  whim,  to  raise  the  poor  devil 
out  of  the  mire,  where  he  had  so  often  and  so 
conveniently  served  her  as  a  stepping-stone,  and 
given  him  the  most  glorious  boon  she  ever  had 
in  her  gift,  merely  for  the  maggot's  sake,  to  see 
how  his  fool  head  and  his  fool  heart  will  bear 
it.  At  other  times  I  was  vain  enough  to  think 
that  Nature,  who  has  a  great  deal  to  say  with 
Fortune,  had  given  the  coquettish  goddess  some 
such  hint  as,  "  Here  is  a  paragon  of  female  ex- 
cellence, whose  equal,  in  all  my  former  com- 
positions, I  never  was  lucky  enough  to  hit  on, 
and  despair  of  ever  doing  so  again  ;  you  have 
cast  her  rather  in  the  shades  of  life ;  there  is  a 
certain  poet  of  my  making ;  among  your  frolics 
it  would  not  be  amiss  to  attach  him  to  this 
masterpiece    of    my   hand,    to    give    her    that 


Letters.  75 

immortality  among  mankind,  which  no  woman 
of  any  age  ever  more  deserved,  and  which  few 
rhymesters  of  this  age  are  better  able  to  confer." 

Evening,  g  d clock. 
I  am  here,  absolutely  so  unfit  to  finish  my 
letter — pretty  hearty  after  a  bowl,  which  has 
been  constantly  plied  since  dinner  till  this 
moment.  I  have  been  with  Mr  Schetki,  the 
musician,  and  he  has  set  the  song  finely.  I 
have  no  distinct  ideas  of  anything,  but  that  I 
have  drunk  your  health  twice  to-night,  and  that 
you  are  all  my  soul  holds  dear  in  this  world. 

Sylvander. 


No.  XVII. 
To  Clarinda. 

Friday  \February  i  ?]. 
Clarinda,  my  life,  you  have  wounded  my  soul. 
Can  I  think  of  your  being  unhappy,  even  though 
it  be  not  described  in  your  pathetic  elegance  of 
language,  without  being  miserable?  Clarinda, 
can  I  bear  to  be  told  from  you  that  "you  will 
not  see  me  to-morrow  night — that  you  wish  the 


y6  Burns'  Clarinda. 

hour  of  parting  were  come"?  Do  not  let  us 
impose  on  ourselves  by  sounds.  .  .  .  Why,  my 
love,  talk  to  me  in  such  strong  terms ;  every 
word  of  which  cuts  me  to  the  very  soul  ?  You 
know,  a  hint,  the  slightest  signification  of  your 
wish,  is  to  me  a  sacred  command. 

Be  reconciled,  my  angel,  to  your  God,  your- 
self, and  me ;  and  I  pledge  you  Sylvander's 
honour — an  oath  I  daresay  you  will  trust  with- 
out reserve — that  you  shall  never  more  have 
reason  to  complain  of  his  conduct.  Now,  my 
love,  do  not  wound  our  next  meeting  with  any 
averted  looks.  ...  I  have  marked  the  line  of 
conduct — a  line,  I  know,  exactly  to  your  taste — 
and  which  I  will  inviolably  keep;  but  do  not 
you  show  the  least  inclination  to  make  boun- 
daries. Seeming  distrust,  where  you  know  you 
may  confide,  is  a  cruel  sin  against  sensibility. 

"  Delicacy,  you  know,  it  was  which  won  me  to 
you  at  once :  take  care  that  you  do  not  loosen 
the  dearest,  most  sacred  tie  that  unites  us." 
Clarinda,  I  would  not  have  stung  your  soul — I 
would  not  have  bruised  ^t7«r  spirit,  as  that  harsh, 
crucifying  "  Take  care,"  did  mine ;  no,  not  to 
have  gained  heaven !  Let  me  again  appeal  to 
your  dear    self,   if    Sylvander,  even   when    he 


Letters.  yy 

seemingly  half  transgressed  the  laws  of  decorum, 
if  he  did  not  show  more  chastised,  trembling, 
faltering  delicacy,  than  the  many  of  the  world 
do  in  keeping  these  laws. 

0  Love  and  Sensibility,  ye  have  conspired 
against  my  peace !  I  love  to  madness,  and  I 
feel  to  torture !  Clarinda,  how  can  I  forgive 
myself  that  I  have  ever  touched  a  single  chord 
in  your  bosom  with  pain !  Would  I  do  it 
willingly  ?  Would  any  consideration,  any  grati- 
fication make  me  do  so  ?  Oh,  did  you  love  like 
me,  you  would  not,  you  could  not,  deny  or  put 
off  a  meeting  with  the  man  who  adores  you ; 
who  would  die  a  thousand  deaths  before  he 
would  injure  you  ;  and  who  must  soon  bid  you 
a  long  farewell ! 

1  had  proposed  bringing  my  bosom  friend, 
Mr  Ainslie,  to-morrow  evening,  at  his  strong 
request,  to  see  you  ;  as  he  has  only  time  to  stay 
with  us  about  ten  minutes,  for  an  engagement. 
But  I  shall  hear  from  you ;  this  afternoon,  for 
mercy's  sake ! — for,  till  I  hear  from  you,  I  am 
wretched.  Oh,  Clarinda,  the  tie  that  binds  me 
to  thee  is  intwisted,  incorporated  with  my 
dearest  threads  of  life ! 

Sylvander. 


78  Burns'  Clarinda. 

No.  XVIII. 
To  Clarinda. 

I  WAS  on  my  way,  my  love,  to  meet  you  (I 
never  do  things  by  halves)  when  I  got  your 
card.  Mr  Ainslie  goes  out  of  town  to-morrow 
morning  to  see  a  brother  of  his,  who  is  newly 
arrived  from  France.  I  am  determined  that  he 
and  I  shall  call  on  you  together.  So  look  you, 
lest  I  should  never  see  to-morrow,  we  will  call 
on  you  to-night.  Mary  *  and  you  may  put  off 
tea  till  about  seven,  at  which  time,  in  the 
Galloway  phrase,  "  an  the  beast  be  to  the  fore, 
and  the  branks  bide  hale,"  expect  the  humblest 
of  your  humble  servants,  and  his  dearest  friend. 
We  only  propose  staying  half  an  hour — "  for 
ought  we  ken."  I  could  suffer  the  lash  of  misery 
eleven  months  in  the  year,  were  the  twelfth  to 
be  composed  of  hours  like  yesternight.  You 
are  the  soul  of  my  enjoyment — all  else  is  of  the 
stuff  of  stocks  and  stones. 

Sylvander. 

*  One  of  Mrs  M'Lehose's  friends. 


Letters.  79 

No.  XIX. 
To  Clarinda. 

Sunday  Noon. 

I  HAVE  almost  given  up  the  Excise  idea.  I 
have  been  just  now  to  wait  on  a  great  person, 

Miss 's  friend .     Why  will  great  people 

not  only  deafen  us  with  the  din  of  their  equipage, 
and  dazzle  us  with  their  fastidious  pomp,  but 
they  must  also  be  so  very  dictatorily  wise  ?  I 
have  been  questioned  like  a  child  about  my 
matters,  and  blamed  and  schooled  for  my  in- 
scription on  the  Stirling  window.  Come, 
Clarinda ! — "  Come,  curse  me  Jacob  ;  come, 
defy  me  Israel !  " 

Sunday  Night. 

I  have  been  with  Miss  Nimmo.  She  is  indeed 
"  a  good  soul,"  as  my  Clarinda  finely  says.  She 
has  reconciled  me,  in  a  good  measure,  to  the 
world  with  her  friendly  prattle. 

Schetki  has  sent  me  the  song,  set  to  a  fine 
air  of  his  composing.  I  have  called  the  song 
"  Clarinda " :  I  have  carried  it  about  in  my 
pocket,  and  hummed  it  over  all  day. 


8o  Bums'  Clarinda. 

Monday  Morning. 
If  my  prayers  have  any  weight  in  heaven,  this 
morning  looks  in  on  you  and  finds  you  in  the 
arms  of  peace,  except  where  it  is  charmingly 
interrupted  by  the  ardours  of  devotion,  I  find 
so  much  serenity  of  mind,  so  much  positive 
pleasure,  so  much  fearless  daring  toward  the 
world,  when  I  warm  in  devotion,  or  feel  the 
glorious  sensation — a  consciousness  of  Almighty 
friendship — that  I  am  sure  I  shall  soon  be  an 
honest  enthusiast. 

"  How  are  Thy  servants  blest,  O  Lord  ! 
How  sure  is  their  defence  ! 
Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide, 
Their  help  Omnipotence  ! " 

I  am,  my  dear  Madam,  yours, 

Sylvander. 

No.  XX. 

To  Clarinda. 

Sunday  Morning. 
I  HAVE  just  been   before   the   throne  of  my 
God,  Clarinda;  according  to  my  association  of 
ideas,  my  sentiments  of  love  and  friendship,  I 


Letters.  8i 

next  devote  myself  to  you.  Yesternight  I  was 
happy — happiness  that  the  world  cannot  give. 
I  kindle  at  the  recollection ;  but  it  is  a  flame 
where  innocence  looks  smiling  on,  and  honour 
stands  by,  a  sacred  guard.  Your  heart,  your 
fondest  wishes,  your  dearest  thoughts,  these  are 
yours  to  bestow :  your  person  is  unapproachable 
by  the  laws  of  your  country ;  and  he  loves  not 
as  I  do  who  would  make  you  miserable. 

You  are  an  angel,  Clarinda :  you  are  surely 
no  mortal  that  "  the  earth  owns."  To  kiss  your 
hand,  to  live  on  your  smile,  is  to  me  far  more 
exquisite  bliss  than  the  dearest  favours  that  the 
fairest  of  the  sex,  yourself  excepted,  can  bestow. 


Sunday  Evening. 
You  are  the  constant  companion  of  my 
thoughts.  How  wretched  is  the  condition  of 
one  who  is  haunted  with  conscious  guilt,  and 
trembling  under  the  idea  of  dreaded  vengeance ! 
and  what  a  placid  calm,  what  a  charming  secret 
enjoyment  it  gives,  to  bosom  the  kind  feelings 
of  friendship  and  the  formal  throes  of  love  ! 
Out  upon  the  tempest  of  anger,  the  acrimonious 
gall  of  fretful  impatience,  the  sullen  frost  of 
F 


82  Burns'  Clarinda. 

louring  resentment,  or  the  corroding  poison  of 
withered  envy !  They  eat  up  the  immortal  part 
of  man.  If  they  spent  their  fury  only  on  the 
unfortunate  objects  of  them,  it  would  be  some- 
thing in  their  favour ;  but  these  miserable 
passions,  like  traitor  Iscariot,  betray  their  lord 
and  master. 

The  Almighty  Author  of  peace,  and  goodness, 
and  love !  do  Thou  give  me  the  social  heart 
that  kindly  tastes  of  every  man's  cup !  Is  it  a 
draught  of  joy  ? — warm  and  open  my  heart  to 
share  it  with  cordial,  unenvying  rejoicing.  Is  it 
the  bitter  potion  of  sorrow? — melt  my  heart 
with  sincerely  sympathetic  woe.  Above  all,  do 
Thou  give  me  the  manly  mind  that  resolutely 
exemplifies,  in  life  and  manners,  those  senti- 
ments which  I  would  wish  to  be  thought  to 
possess.  The  friend  of  my  soul;  there,  may  I 
never  deviate  from  the  firmest  fidelity  and  most 
active  kindness !  Clarinda,  the  dear  object  of 
my  fondest  love ;  there,  may  the  most  sacred 
inviolate  honour,  the  most  faithful  kindling 
constancy,  ever  watch  and  animate  my  every 
thought  and  imagination ! 

Did  you  ever  meet  with  the  following  lines 
spoken  of  religion — your  darling  topic  ? — 


Letters.  83 

"  '7>j  this^  my  friend,  that  streaks  our  morning  bright  ; 
^Tis  this  that  gilds  the  horrors  of  our  night ; 
When  wealth  forsakes  us,  and  when  friends  are  few, 
When  friends  are  faithless,  or  when  foes  pursue  ; 
'Tis  this  that  wards  the  blow,  or  stills  the  smart, 
Disarms  affliction,  or  repels  its  dart ; 
Within  the  breast  bids  purest  rapture  rise, 
Bids  smiling  Conscience  spread  her  cloudless  skies." 

I  met  with  these  verses  very  early  in  life,  and 
was  so  delighted  with  them,  that  I  have  them  by 
me,  copied  at  school. 

Good  night  and  sound  rest,  my  dearest 
Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 


No.  XXI. 
To  Clarinda. 

Thursday  Night. 
I  CANNOT  be  easy,  my  Clarinda,  while  any 
sentiment  respecting  me  in  your  bosom  gives 
me  pain.  If  there  is  no  man  on  earth  to  whom 
your  heart  and  affections  are  justly  due,  it  may 
savour  of  imprudence,  but  never  of  criminality, 
to  bestow  that  heart  and  those  affections  where 
you  please.  The  God  of  love  meant  and  made 
those  delicious  attachments  to  be  bestowed  on 


84  Burns'  Claiinda. 

somebody ;  and  even  all  the  imprudence  lies 
in  bestowing  them  on  an  unworthy  object.  If 
this  reasoning  is  conclusive,  as  it  certainly  is, 
I  must  be  allowed  to  "  talk  of  love." 

It  is,  perhaps,  rather  wrong  to  speak  highly 
to  a  friend  of  his  letter :  it  is  apt  to  lay  one 
under  a  little  restraint  in  their  future  letters, 
and  restraint  is  the  death  of  a  friendly  epistle  ; 
but  there  is  one  passage  in  your  last  charming 
letter,  Thomson  or  Shenstone  never  exceeded  it, 
nor  often  came  up  to  it.  I  shall  certainly  steal 
it,  and  set  it  in  some  future  poetic  production, 
and  get  immortal  fame  by  it.  'Tis  when  you 
bid  the  scenes  of  nature  remind  me  of  Clarinda. 
Can  I  forget  you,  Clarinda  ?  I  would  detest 
myself  as  a  tasteless,  unfeeling,  insipid,  infamous 
blockhead.  I  have  loved  women  of  ordinary 
merit,  whom  I  could  have  loved  for  ever.  You 
are  the  first,  the  only  unexceptionable  individual 
of  the  beauteous  sex  that  I  ever  met  with  ;  and 
never  woman  more  entirely  possessed  my  soul. 
I  know  myself,  and  how  far  I  can  depend  on 
passion's  swell.     It  has  been  my  peculiar  study. 

I  thank  you  for  going  to  Miers.  Urge  him, 
for  necessity  calls,  to  have  it  done  by  the  middle 
of  next  week  :    Wednesday  the  latest  day.     I 


Letters.  85 

want  it  for  a  breast-pin,  to  wear  next  my  heart. 
I  propose  to  keep  sacred  set  times,  to  wander 
in  the  woods  and  wilds  for  meditation  on  you. 
Then,  and  only  then,  your  lovely  image  shall  be 
produced  to  the  day,  with  a  reverence  akin  to 
devotion. 

To-morrow  night  shall  not  be  the  last. 
Good  night !  I  am  perfectly  stupid,  as  I 
supped  late  yesternight. 

Sylvander. 


No.  XXII. 

To  Clarinda. 

Saturday  Morning. 
There  is  no  time,  my  Clarinda,  when  the 
conscious  thrilling  chords  of  love  and  friendship 
give  such  delight,  as  in  the  pensive  hours  of 
what  our  favourite  Thomson  calls  "  philosophic 
melancholy."  The  sportive  insects,  who  bask  in 
the  sunshine  of  prosperity,  or  the  worms,  that 
luxuriant  crawl  amid  their  ample  wealth  of 
earth ;  they  need  no  Clarinda — they  would 
despise  Sylvander,  if  they  dared.     The  family  of 


86  Burns'  Clarinda, 

Misfortune,  a  numerous  group  of  brothers  and 
sisters  !  they  need  a  resting-place  to  their  souls. 
Unnoticed,  often  condemned  by  the  world — in 
some  degree,  perhaps,  condemned  by  themselves 
— they  feel  the  full  enjoyment  of  ardent  love, 
delicate,  tender  endearments,  mutual  esteem, 
and  mutual  reliance. 

In  this  light  I  have  often  admired  religion. 
In  proportion  as  we  are  wrung  with  grief,  or 
distracted  with  anxiety,  the  ideas  of  a  com- 
passionate Deity,  an  Almighty  Protector,  are 
doubly  dear. 

"  'Tis  this,  my  friend,  that  streaks  our  morning  bright ; 
'Tis  this  that  gilds  the  horrors  of  our  night." 

I  have  been  this  morning  taking  a  peep 
through,  as  Young  finely  says,  "the  dark 
postern  of  time  long  elapsed  " ;  and  you  will 
easily  guess  'twas  a  rueful  prospect.  What  a 
tissue  of  thoughtlessness,  weakness,  and  folly ! 
My  life  reminded  me  of  a  ruined  temple  :  what 
strength,  what  proportion  in  some  parts  ! — what 
unsightly  gaps,  what  prostrate  ruins  in  others  ! 
I  kneeled  down  before  the  Father  of  Mercies, 
and  said,  "  Father,  I  have  sinned  against 
Heaven,  and  in   Thy  sight,  and  am  no  more 


Letters.  87 

worthy  to  be  called  Thy  son  ! "  I  rose,  eased 
and  strengthened.  I  despise  the  superstition  of 
a  fanatic,  but  I  love  the  religion  of  a  man. 
"  The  future,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  is  still  before 
me  :  there  let  me 

'  On  reason  build  resolve — 
That  column  of  true  majesty  in  man  ! ' 

I  have  difficulties  many  to  encounter,"  said  I  ; 
"  but  they  are  not  absolutely  insuperable  :  and 
where  is  firmness  of  mind  shown,  but  in  exer- 
tion ?  Mere  declamation  is  bombast  rant. 
Besides,  wherever  I  am,  or  in  whatever  situation 
I  may  be — 

'  'Tis  nought  to  me, 
Since  God  is  ever  present,  ever  felt. 
In  the  void  waste  as  in  the  city  full ; 
And  where  He  vital  breathes,  there  must  be  joy.' " 

Saturday  Night,  Half  after  Ten, 
What  luxury  of  bliss  I  was  enjoying  at  this 
time  yesternight !  My  ever  dearest  Clarinda, 
you  have  stolen  away  my  soul :  but  you  have 
refined,  you  have  exalted  it ;  you  have  given  it 
a  stronger  sense  of  virtue,  and  a  stronger  relish 
for  piety.  Clarinda,  first  of  your  sex  !  if  ever  I 
am  the  veriest  wretch  on  earth  to  forget  you — 


88  Bums'  Clarinda. 

if  ever  your  lovely  image  is  effaced  from  my 
soul — 

"  May  I  be  lost,  no  eye  to  weep  my  end, 
And  find  no  earth  that's  base  enough  to  bury  me  ! " 

What  trifling  silliness  is  the  childish  fondness 
of  the  every-day  children  of  the  world !  'Tis 
the  unmeaning  toying  of  the  younglings  of  the 
fields  and  forests ;  but,  where  sentiment  and 
fancy  unite  their  sweets,  where  taste  and  deli- 
cacy refine,  where  wit  adds  the  flavour,  and 
good  sense  gives  strength  and  spirit  to  all,  what 
a  delicious  draught  is  the  hour  of  tender 
endearment ! 

No.  XXIII. 
To  Clarinda. 

.  .  .  I  AM  a  discontented  ghost,  a  perturbed 
spirit.  Clarinda,  if  you  ever  forget  Sylvander, 
may  you  be  happy,  but  he  will  be  miserable. 

Oh,  what  a  fool  I  am  in  love !  what  an 
extravagant  prodigal  of  affection !  Why  are 
your  sex  called  the  tender  sex,  when  I  never 
have  met  with  one  who  can  repay  me  in 
passion  ?  They  are  either  not  so  rich  in  love 
as  I  am,  or  they  are  niggards  where  I  am  lavish. 


Letters.  89 

0  Thou,  whose  I  am,  and  whose  are  all  my 
ways !  Thou  see'st  me  here,  the  hapless  wreck 
of  tides  and  tempests  in  my  own  bosom  :  do 
Thou  direct  to  Thyself  that  ardent  love,  for 
which  I  have  so  often  sought  a  return  in  vain 
from  my  fellow-creatures  !  If  Thy  goodness 
has  yet  such  a  gift  in  store  for  me  as  an  equal 
return  of  affection  from  her  who,  Thou  knowest, 
is  dearer  to  me  than  life,  do  Thou  bless  and 
hallow  our  band  of  love  and  friendship  ;  watch 
over  us,  in  all  our  outgoings  and  incomings  for 
good  ;  and  may  the  tie  that  unites  our  hearts  be 
strong  and  indissoluble  as  the  thread  of  man's 
immortal  life  ! 

1  am  just  going  to  take  your  blackbird,  the 
sweetest,  I  am  sure,  that  ever  sung,  and  prune 
its  wings  a  little. 

Sylvan  DER. 


No.  XXIV. 
To  Clarinda. 

Tuesday  Morning. 
I  CANNOT  go  out  to-day,  my  dearest  love, 
without  sending  you  half  a  line  by  way  of  a  sin- 


90  Burns*  Clarinda. 

offering ;  but,  believe  me,  'twas  the  sin  of  ignor- 
ance. Could  you  think  that  I  intended  to  hurt 
you  by  anything  I  said  yesternight?  Nature 
has  been  too  kind  to  you  for  your  happiness, 
your  delicacy,  your  sensibility.  Oh  why  should 
such  glorious  qualifications  be  the  fruitful  source 
of  woe !  You  have  "  murdered  sleep  "  to  me  last 
night.  I  went  to  bed  impressed  with  an  idea 
that  you  were  unhappy ;  and  every  start  I 
closed  my  eyes,  busy  Fancy  painted  you  in  such 
scenes  of  romantic  misery,  that  I  would  almost 
be  persuaded  you  are  not  well  this  morning. 

"  If  I  unwitting  have  offended, 
Impute  it  not." 

"  But  while  we  live 
But  one  short  hour,  perhaps,  between  us  two 
Let  there  be  peace." 

If  Mary  has  not  gone  by  the  time  this  reaches 
you,  give  her  my  best  compliments.  She  is  a 
charming  girl,  and  highly  worthy  of  the  noblest 
love. 

I  send  you  a  poem  to  read  till  I  call  on  you 
this  night,  which  will  be  about  nine.  I  wish 
I  could  procure  some  potent  spell,  some  fairy 
charm,  that  would  protect  from  injury,  or  restore 
to  rest,  that  bosom  chord,  "  trembling  alive  all 


Letters.  91 

o'er,"  on  which  hangs  your  peace  of  mind.  I 
thought,  vainly  I  fear  thought,  that  the  devotion 
of  love — love  strong  as  even  you  can  feel,  love 
guarded,  invulnerably  guarded,  by  all  the  purity 
of  virtue,  and  all  the  pride  of  honour — I  thought 
such  a  love  might  make  you  happy.  Shall  I  be 
mistaken?     I  can  no  more,  for  hurry. 


No.  XXV. 
To  Clarinda. 

Friday  Morning,  7  d clock. 
Your  fears  for  Mary  are  truly  laughable.  I 
suppose,  my  love,  you  and  I  showed  her  a 
scene  which,  perhaps,  made  her  wish  that  she 
had  a  swain,  and  one  who  could  love  like  me  ; 
and  'tis  a  thousand  pities  that  so  good  a  heart 
as  hers  should  want  an  aim,  an  object.  I  am 
miserably  stupid  this  morning.  Yesterday  I 
dined  with  a  baronet,  and  sat  pretty  late  over 
the  bottle.  And  "  who  hath  woe — who  hath 
sorrow  ?  they  that  tarry  long  at  the  wine  ;  they 
that  go  to  seek  mixed  wine."  Forgive  me, 
likewise,  a  quotation  from  my  favourite  author. 


92  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Solomon's  knowledge  of  the  world  is  very  great. 
He  may  be  looked  on  as  the  Spectator  or 
Adventurer  of  his  day :  and  it  is,  indeed,  sur- 
prising what  a  sameness  has  ever  been  in  human 
nature.  The  broken,  but  strongly  characterising 
hints,  that  the  royal  author  gives  us  of  the 
manners  of  the  court  of  Jerusalem  and  country 
of  Israel  are,  in  their  great  outlines,  the  same 
pictures  that  London  and  England,  Versailles 
and  France,  exhibit  some  three  thousand  years 
later.  The  loves  in  the  "  Song  of  Songs  "  are 
all  in  the  spirit  of  Lady  M.  W.  Montagu,  or 
Madame  Ninon  de  I'Enclos ;  though,  for  my 
part,  I  dislike  both  the  ancient  and  modern 
voluptuaries  ;  and  will  dare  to  affirm,  that  such 
an  attachment  as  mine  to  Clarinda,  and  such 
evenings  as  she  and  I  have  spent,  are  what 
these  greatly  respectable  and  deeply  experienced 
judges  of  life  and  love  never  dreamed  of 

I  shall  be  with  you  this  evening  between 
eight  and  nine,  and  shall  keep  as  sober  hours 
as  you  could  wish. 

I  am  ever,  my  dear  Madam,  yours, 

Sylvander. 


Letters.  93 

No.  XXVI. 

To  Clarinda. 

My  ever  dearest  Clarinda, 

I  make  a  numerous  dinner-party  wait  me 
while  I  read  yours  and  write  this.  Do  not 
require  that  I  should  cease  to  love  you,  to  adore 
you  in  my  soul ;  'tis  to  me  impossible :  your 
peace  and  happiness  are  to  me  dearer  than  my 
soul.  Name  the  terms  on  which  you  wish  to 
see  me,  to  correspond  with  me,  and  you  have 
them.  I  must  love,  pine,  mourn,  and  adore  in 
secret :  this  you  must  not  deny  me.  You  will 
ever  be  to  me 

"  Dear  as  the  light  that  visits  those  sad  eyes, 
Dear  as  the  ruddy  drops  that  warm  my  heart." 

I  have  not  patience  to  read  the  Puritanic  scrawl. 
Damned  sophistry !  Ye  heavens,  Thou  God  of 
nature,  Thou  Redeemer  of  mankind !  ye  look 
down  with  approving  eyes  on  a  passion  inspired 
by  the  purest  flame,  and  guarded  by  truth, 
delicacy,  and  honour ;  but  the  half-inch  soul  of 
an  unfeeling,  cold-blooded,  pitiful  Presbyterian 
bigot  cannot  forgive  anything  above  his  dungeon- 
bosom  and  foggy  head. 


94  Bums*  Clarinda. 

Farewell !  I'll  be  with  you  to-morrow  even- 
ing ;  and  be  at  rest  in  your  mind.  I  will  be 
yours  in  the  way  you  think  most  to  your  happi- 
ness. I  dare  not  proceed.  I  love,  and  will  love 
you  ;  and  will,  with  joyous  confidence,  approach 
the  throne  of  the  Almighty  Judge  of  men  with 
your  dear  idea ;  and  will  despise  the  scum  of 
sentiment  and  the  mist  of  sophistry. 

Sylvander. 


No.  XXVII. 
To  Clarinda. 

Wednesday^  Midnight. 

Madam, 

After  a  wretched  day,  I  am  preparing  for 
a  sleepless  night.  I  am  going  to  address  myself 
to  the  Almighty  Witness  of  my  actions — some 
time,  perhaps  very  soon,  my  Almighty  Judge. 
I  am  not  going  to  be  the  advocate  of  Passion  : 
be  Thou  my  inspirer  and  testimony,  O  God,  as 
I  plead  the  cause  of  truth  ! 

I  have  read  over  your  friend's  haughty,  dicta- 
torial letter :  you  are  only  answerable  to  your 
God  in  such  a  matter.     Who  gave  any  fellow- 


Letters.  95 

creature  of  yours  (a  fellow-creature  incapable  of 
being  your  judge,  because  not  your  peer)  a  right 
to  catechise,  scold,  undervalue,  abuse,  and  insult, 
wantonly  and  inhumanly  to  insult,  you  thus  ?  I 
don't  wish,  not  even  wish,  to  deceive  you,  Madam. 
The  Searcher  of  hearts  is  my  witness  how  dear 
you  are  to  me  ;  but  though  it  were  possible  you 
could  be  still  dearer  to  me,  I  would  not  even 
kiss  your  hand  at  the  expense  of  your  conscience. 
Away  with  declamation !  let  us  appeal  to  the 
bar  of  common  sense.  It  is  not  mouthing 
everything  sacred  ;  it  is  not  vague  ranting  asser- 
tions ;  it  is  not  assuming,  haughtily  and  insult- 
ingly assuming,  the  dictatorial  language  of  a 
Roman  pontiff,  that  must  dissolve  a  union  like 
ours.  Tell  me.  Madam,  are  you  under  the  least 
shadow  of  an  obligation  to  bestow  your  love, 
tenderness,  caresses,  affections,  heart  and  soul, 
on  Mr  M'Lehose — the  man  who  has  repeatedly, 
habitually,  and  barbarously  broken  through 
every  tie  of  duty,  nature,  or  gratitude  to  you  ? 
The  laws  of  your  country,  indeed,  for  the  most 
useful  reasons  of  policy  and  sound  government, 
have  made  your  person  inviolate ;  but  are  your 
heart  and  affections  bound  to  one  who  gives  not 
the  least  return  of  either  to  you  ?     You  cannot 


96  Burns'  Clarinda. 

do  it ;  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  things  that  you 
are  bound  to  do  it ;  the  common  feelings  of 
humanity  forbid  it.  Have  you,  then,  a  heart 
and  affections  which  are  no  man's  right  ?  You 
have.  It  would  be  highly,  ridiculously  absurd 
to  suppose  the  contrary.  Tell  me,  then,  in  the 
name  of  common  sense,  can  it  be  wrong,  is  such 
a  supposition  compatible  with  the  plainest  ideas 
of  right  and  wrong,  that  it  is  improper  to  bestow 
the  heart  and  these  affections  on  another — while 
that  bestowing  is  not  in  the  smallest  degree 
hurtful  to  your  duty  to  God,  to  your  children,  to 
yourself,  or  to  society  at  large  ? 

This  is  the  great  test ;  the  consequences :  let 
us  see  them.  In  a  widowed,  forlorn,  lonely 
situation,  with  a  bosom  glowing  with  love  and 
tenderness,  yet  so  delicately  situated  that  you 
cannot  indulge  these  nobler  feelings  except  you 
meet  with  a  man  who  has  a  soul  capable    .    .    . 


No.  XXVIII. 

To  Clarinda. 

"  I  AM  distressed  for  thee,  my  brother  Jona- 
than."     I    have   suffered,   Clarinda,   from   your 


Letters.  97 

letter.  My  soul  was  in  arms  at  the  sad  perusal. 
I  dreaded  that  I  had  acted  wrong.  If  I  have 
wronged  you,  God  forgive  me.  But,  Clarinda, 
be  comforted.  Let  us  raise  the  tone  of  our 
feelings  a  little  higher  and  bolder.  A  fellow- 
creature  who  leaves  us — who  spurns  us  without 
just  cause,  though  once  our  bosom  friend — up 
with  a  little  honest  pride :  let  him  go !  How 
shall  I  comfort  you,  who  am  the  cause  of  the 
injury  ?  Can  I  wish  that  I  had  never  seen  you 
— that  we  had  never  met?  No,  I  never  will. 
But,  have  I  thrown  you  friendless  ? — there  is 
almost  distraction  in  the  thought.  Father  of 
Mercies !  against  Thee  often  have  I  sinned : 
through  Thy  grace  I  will  endeavour  to  do  so  no 
more.  She  who,  Thou  knowest,  is  dearer  to  me 
than  myself — pour  Thou  the  balm  of  peace  into 
her  past  wounds,  and  hedge  her  about  with 
Thy  peculiar  care,  all  her  future  days  and 
nights.  Strengthen  her  tender,  noble  mind 
firmly  to  suffer  and  magnanimously  to  bear. 
Make  me  worthy  of  that  friendship,  that  love 
she  honours  me  with.  May  my  attachment  to 
her  be  pure  as  devotion,  and  lasting  as  immortal 
life !  O  Almighty  Goodness,  hear  me !  Be  to 
her  at  all  times,  particularly  in  the  hour  of 
G 


98  Bums*  Clarinda. 

distress  or  trial,  a  friend  and  comforter,  a  guide 
and  guard. 

"  How  are  Thy  servants  blest,  O  Lord, 
How  sure  is  their  defence  ! 
Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide, 
Their  help  Omnipotence." 

Forgive  me,  Clarinda,  the  injury  I  have  done 
you.  To-night  I  shall  be  with  you,  as  indeed  I 
shall  be  ill  at  ease  till  I  see  you. 

Sylvan  DER. 


No.  XXIX. 
To  Clarinda. 

I  Two  d  clock. 

I  JUST  now  received  your  first  letter  of  yester- 
day, by  the  careless  negligence  of  the  penny- 
post.  Clarinda,  matters  are  grown  very  serious 
with  us ;  then  seriously  hear  me,  and  hear  me, 
Heaven — I  met  you,  my  dear  .  .  .  ,  by  far  the 
first  of  womankind,  at  least  to  me  ;  I  esteemed, 
I  loved  you  at  first  sight ;  the  longer  I  am 
acquainted  with  you,  the  more  innate  amiable- 
ness  and  worth  I  discover  in  you.  You  have 
suffered  a  loss,  I  confess,  for  my  sake  :  but  if  the 
firmest,  steadiest,  warmest  friendship — if  every 


Letters.  99 

endeavour  to  be  worthy  of  your  friendship — if  a 
love,  strong  as  the  ties  of  nature,  and  holy  as 
the  duties  of  religion — if  all  these  can  make 
anything  like  a  compensation  for  the  evil  I  have 
occasioned  you,  if  they  be  worth  your  acceptance, 
or  can  in  the  least  add  to  your  enjoyments — so 
help  Sylvander,  ye  Powers  above,  in  his  hour  of 
need,  as  he  freely  gives  these  all  to  Clarinda ! 

I  esteem  you,  I  love  you  as  a  friend  :  I  admire 
you,  I  love  you  as  a  woman  beyond  any  one  in 
all  the  circle  of  creation  ;  I  know  I  shall  continue 
to  esteem  you,  to  love  you,  to  pray  for  you — nay, 
to  pray  for  myself  for  your  sake. 

Expect  me  at  eight — and  believe  me  to  be 
ever,  my  dearest  Madam, 

Yours  most  entirely, 

Sylvander. 

No.  XXX. 

To  Clarinda. 

When  matters,  my  love,  are  desperate,  we 
must  put  on  a  desperate  face — 

"  On  reason  build  resolve, 
That  column  of  true  majesty  in  man  " — 


loo  Burns'  Clarinda. 

or,  as  the  same  author  finely  says  in  another 
place — 

"  Let  thy  soul  spring  up 
And  lay  strong  hold  for  help  on  Him  that  made  thee." 

I  am  yours,  Clarinda,  for  life.  Never  be  dis- 
couraged at  all  this.  Look  forward  :  in  a  few 
weeks  I  shall  be  somewhere  or  other,  out  of  the 
possibility  of  seeing  you  ;  till  then,  I  shall  write 
you  often,  but  visit  you  seldom.  Your  fame, 
your  welfare,  your  happiness,  are  dearer  to  me 
than  any  gratification  whatever.  Be  comforted, 
my  love  1  the  present  moment  is  the  worst ;  the 
lenient  hand  of  time  is  daily  and  hourly  either 
lightening  the  burden,  or  making  us  insensible 
to  the  weight.     None  of  these  friends — I  mean 

Mr  and  the  other   gentleman — can   hurt 

your  worldly  support ;  and  of  their  friendship, 
in  a  little  time  you  will  learn  to  be  easy,  and 
by -and -by  to  be  happy  without  it.  A  decent 
means  of  livelihood  in  the  world,  an  approving 
God,  a  peaceful  conscience,  and  one  firm  trusty 
friend — can  anybody  that  has  these  be  said  to 
be  unhappy  ?     These  are  yours. 

To-morrow  evening  I  shall  be  with  you  about 
eight,  probably  for  the  last  time  till  I  return  to 


Letters.  lOi 

Edinburgh.  In  the  meantime,  should  any  of 
these  two  unlucky  friends  question  you  respect- 
ing me,  whether  I  am  the  man,  I  do  not  think 
they  are  entitled  to  any  information.  As  to 
their    jealousy    and    spying,    I    despise    them. 

Adieu,  my  dearest  Madam  1 

Sylvander. 


No.  XXXI. 

To  Clarinda. 

Glasgow,  Monday  Evening,  Nine  d clock. 
The  attraction  of  love,  I  find,  is  in  an  inverse 
proportion  to  the  attraction  of  the  Newtonian 
philosophy.  In  the  system  of  Sir  Isaac,  the 
nearer  objects  were  to  one  another,  the  stronger 
was  the  attractive  force.  In  my  system,  every 
milestone  that  marked  my  progress  from 
Clarinda,  awakened  a  keener  pang  of  attach- 
ment to  her.  How  do  you  feel,  my  love?  Is 
your  heart  ill  at  ease  ?  I  fear  it.  God  forbid 
that  these  persecutors  should  harass  that  peace, 
which  is  more  precious  to  me  than  my  own. 
Be  assured  I  shall  ever  think  on  you,  muse  on 
you,  and  in  my  moments  of  devotion,  pray  for 


102  Bums'  Clarinda. 

you.  The  hour  that  you  are  not  in  my  thoughts, 
"  be  that  hour  darkness  ;  let  the  shadows  of 
death  cover  it ;  let  it  not  be  numbered  in  the 
hours  of  the  day ! " 

"  When  I  forget  the  darling  theme, 
Be  my  tongue  mute  !  my  fancy  paint  no  more  ! 
And,  dead  to  joy,  forget  my  heart  to  beat ! " 

I  have  just  met  with  my  old  friend,  the  ship 
captain  * — guess  my  pleasure :  to  meet  you 
could  alone  have  given  me  more.  My  brother 
William,  too,  the  young  saddler,  has  come  to 
Glasgow  to  meet  me  ;  and  here  are  we  three 
spending  the  evening. 

I  arrived  here  too  late  to  write  by  post ;  but 
I'll  wrap  half-a-dozen  sheets  of  blank  paper 
together,  and  send  it  by  the  Fly,  under  the 
name  of  a  parcel.  You  will  hear  from  me 
next  post-town.  I  would  write  you  a  longer 
letter,  but  for  the  present  circumstances  of  my 
friend. 

Adieu,  my  Clarinda !  I  am  just  going  to 
propose  your  health  by  way  of  grace  drink. 

Sylvander. 

*  Mr  Richard  Brown. 


Letters.  103 

No.  XXXII. 
To  Clarinda. 

Kilmarnock,  Friday  [Feb.  22]. 
I  WROTE  you,  my  dear  Madam,  the  moment 
I  alighted  in  Glasgow.  Since  then  I  have  not 
had  opportunity ;  for  in  Paisley,  where  I  arrived 
next  day,  my  worthy,  wise  friend  Mr  Pattison 
did  not  allow  me  a  moment's  respite.  I  was 
there  ten  hours  ;  during  which  time  I  was  intro- 
duced to  nine  men  worth  six  thousands ;  five 
men  worth  ten  thousands ;  his  brother,  richly 
worth  twenty  thousands ;  and  a  young  weaver, 
who  will  have  thirty  thousands  good  when  his 
father,  who  has  no  more  children  than  the  said 
weaver,  and  a  Whig  kirk,  dies.  Mr  P.  was  bred 
a  zealous  Anti-burgher  ;  but  during  his  widower- 
hood  he  has  found  their  strictness  incompatible 
with  certain  compromises  he  is  often  obliged  to 
make  with  those  powers  of  darkness — the  devil, 
the  world,  and  the  flesh.  .  .  .  His  only  daughter, 
who,  "if  the  beast  be  to  the  fore,  and  the 
branks  bide  hale,"  will  have  seven  thousand 
pounds  when  her  old  father  steps  into  the  dark 
factory-office  of  eternity  with  his  well-thrummed 


104  Bums'  Clarinda. 

web  of  life,  has  put  him  again  and  again  in  a 
commendable  fit  of  indignation  by  requesting 
a  harpsichord.  "O  these  boarding-schools!" 
exclaims  my  prudent  friend :  "  she  was  a  good 
spinner  and  sewer  till  I  was  advised  by  her  foes 
and  mine  to  give  her  a  year  of  Edinburgh ! " 

After  two  bottles  more,  my  much-respected 
friend  opened  up  to  me  a  project — a  legitimate 
child  of  Wisdom  and  Good  Sense :  'twas  no 
less  than  a  long-thought-on  and  deeply-matured 
design,  to  marry  a  girl  fully  as  elegant  in  her 
form  as  the  famous  priestess  whom  Saul  con- 
sulted in  his  last  hours,  and  who  had  been 
second  maid  of  honour  to  his  deceased  wife. 
This,  you  may  be  sure,  I  highly  applauded  ;  so 
I  hope  for  a  pair  of  gloves  by-and-by.  I  spent 
the  two  bypast  days  at  Dunlop  House,  with 
that  worthy  family  to  whom  I  was  deeply  in- 
debted early  in  my  poetic  career  ;  and  in  about 
two  hours  I  shall  present  your  "twa  wee  sarkies" 
to  the  little  fellow.  My  dearest  Clarinda,  you 
are  ever  present  with  me;  and  these  hours, 
that  drawl  by  among  the  fools  and  rascals  of 
this  world,  are  only  supportable  in  the  idea, 
that  they  are  the  forerunners  of  that  happy 
hour  that  ushers  me   to  "the  mistress  of  my 


Letters.  105 

soul."      Next  week  I  shall  visit  Dumfries,  and 

next   again  return  to  Edinburgh.     My  letters, 

in    these   hurrying    dissipated    hours,    will    be 

heavy  trash ;   but  you  know  the  writer.     God 

bless  you ! 

Sylvander. 

No.  XXXIII. 

To  Clarinda. 

Cumnock  \Sunday\  March  2,  1788. 
I  HOPE,  and  am  certain,  that  my  generous 
Clarinda  will  not  think  my  silence,  for  now  a 
long  week,  has  been  in  any  degree  owing  to 
my  forgetfulness.  I  have  been  tossed  about 
through  the  country  ever  since  I  wrote  you  ; 
and  am  here,  returning  from  Dumfriesshire,  at 
an  inn,  the  post-office  of  the  place,  with  just  so 
long  time  as  my  horse  eats  his  corn,  to  write 
you.  I  have  been  hurried  with  business  and 
dissipation  almost  equal  to  the  insidious  decree 
of  the  Persian  monarch's  mandate,  when  he  for- 
bade asking  petition  of  God  or  man  for  forty 
days.  Had  the  venerable  prophet  been  as 
throng  [busy]  as  I,  he  had  not  broken  the 
decree,  at  least  not  thrice  a-day. 


io6  Bums'  Clarinda. 

I  am  thinking  my  farming  scheme  will  yet 
hold.  A  worthy,  intelligent  farmer,  my  father's 
friend  and  my  own,  has  been  with  me  on  the 
spot :  he  thinks  the  bargain  practicable.  I  am 
myself,  on  a  more  serious  review  of  the  lands, 
much  better  pleased  with  them.  I  won't  mention 
this  in  writing  to  anybody  but  you  and  [Ainslie]. 
Don't  accuse  me  of  being  fickle :  I  have  the  two 
plans  of  life  before  me,  and  I  wish  to  adopt  the 
one  most  likely  to  procure  me  independence.  I 
shall  be  in  Edinburgh  next  week.  I  long  to 
see  you :  your  image  is  omnipresent  to  me ; 
nay,  I  am  convinced  I  would  soon  idolatrize  it 
most  seriously — so  much  do  absence  and  memory 
improve  the  medium  through  which  one  sees  the 
much-loved  object.  To-night,  at  the  sacred  hour 
of  eight,  I  expect  to  meet  you — at  the  Throne 
of  Grace.  I  hope,  as  I  go  home  to-night,  to 
find  a  letter  from  you  at  the  post-office  in 
Mauchline.  I  have  just  once  seen  that  dear  hand 
since  I  left  Edinburgh — a  letter  indeed  which 
much  affected  me.  Tell  me,  first  of  woman- 
kind !  will  my  warmest  attachment,  my  sincerest 
friendship,  my  correspondence — will  they  be  any 
compensation  for  the  sacrifices  you  make  for  my 
sake?     If  they  will,  they  are  yours.     If  I  settle 


Letters.  .  107 

on  the  farm  I  propose,  I  am  just  a  day  and  a 
half's  ride  from  Edinburgh.  We  will  meet — 
don't  you  say  "  perhaps  too  often  ! " 

Farewell,  my  fair,  my  charming  poetess  !    May 
all  good  things  ever  attend  you  ! 

I  am  ever,  my  dearest  Madam,  yours, 

Sylvander. 


No.  XXXIV. 
Sylvander  to  Clarinda. 

\March  6,  1788.] 
I  OWN  myself  guilty,  Clarinda :  I  should 
have  written  you  last  week.  But  when  you 
recollect,  my  dearest  Madam,  that  yours  of  this 
night's  post  is  only  the  third  I  have  from  you, 
and  that  this  is  the  fifth  or  sixth  I  have  sent 
to  you,  you  will  not  reproach  me,  with  a  good 
grace,  for  unkindness.  I  have  always  some  kind 
of  idea  not  to  sit  down  to  write  a  letter,  except 
I  have  time,  and  possession  of  my  faculties,  so 
as  to  do  some  justice  to  my  letter  ;  which  at 
present  is  rarely  my  situation.  For  instance, 
yesterday  I  dined  at  a  friend's  at  some  distance : 


io8  Bums'  Clarinda. 

the  savage  hospitality  of  this  country  spent  me 
the  most  part  of  the  night  over  the  nauseous 
potion  in  the  bowl.  This  day — sick — headache 
— low  spirits — miserable — fasting,  except  for  a 
draught  of  water  or  small  beer.  Now  eight 
o'clock  at  night;  only  able  to  crawl  ten  minutes' 
walk  into  Mauchline,  to  wait  the  post,  in  the 
pleasurable  hope  of  hearing  from  the  mistress 
of  my  soul. 

But  truce  with  all  this  !  When  I  sit  down 
to  write  to  you,  all  is  happiness  and  peace.  A 
hundred  times  a  day  do  I  figure  you  before 
your  taper,  your  book  or  work  laid  aside  as  I 
get  within  the  room.  How  happy  have  I  been  ! 
and  how  little  of  that  scantling  portion  of  time, 
called  the  life  of  man,  is  sacred  to  happiness, 
much  less  transport. 

I  could  moralize  to-night  like  a  death's-head. 

"  Oh  what  is  life,  that  thoughtless  wish  of  all  1 
A  drop  of  honey  in  a  draught  of  gall." 

Nothing  astonishes  me  more,  when  a  little 
sickness  clogs  the  wheels  of  life,  than  the 
thoughtless  career  we  run  in  the  hour  of  health. 
"  None  saith,  Where  is  God,  my  Maker,  that 
giveth   songs   in   the  night :    who   teacheth   us 


Letters.  109 

more  knowledge  than  the  beasts  of  the  field, 
and  more  understanding  than  the  fowls  of  the 
air  ?  " 

Give  me,  my  Maker,  to  remember  Thee ! 
Give  me  to  act  up  to  the  dignity  of  my  nature  ! 
Give  me  to  feel  "  another's  woe  "  ;  and  continue 
with  me  that  dear  loved  friend  that  feels  with 
mine  ! 

The  dignifying  and  dignified  consciousness  of 
an  honest  man,  and  the  well-grounded  trust  in 
approving  Heaven,  are  two  most  substantial 
foundations  of  happiness.     .     .     . 

I  could  not  have  written  a  page  to  any 
mortal  except  yourself  I'll  write  you  by 
Sunday's  post.    Adieu  !     Good  night ! 

Sylvander. 


No.  XXXV. 

Sylvander  to  Clarinda. 

MOSSGIEL,  March  7,  1788. 
Clarinda,  I  have  been  so  stung  with  your 
reproach  for  unkindness — a  sin  so  unlike  me,  a 
sin  I  detest  more  than  a  breach  of  the  whole 


no  Burns   Clarinda, 

Decalogue,  fifth,  sixth,  seventh,  and  ninth 
articles  excepted — that  I  believe  I  shall  not  rest 
in  my  grave  about  it,  if  I  die  before  I  see  you. 
You  have  often  allowed  me  the  head  to  judge 
and  the  heart  to  feel  the  influence  of  female 
excellence  :  was  it  not  blasphemy  then,  against 
your  own  charms  and  against  my  feelings,  to 
suppose  that  a  short  fortnight  could  abate  my 
passion  ? 

You,  my  love,  may  have  your  cares  and 
anxieties  to  disturb  you ;  but  they  are  the 
usual  occurrences  of  life.  Your  future  views  are 
fixed,  and  your  mind  in  a  settled  routine. 
Could  not  you,  my  ever  dearest  Madam,  make 
a  little  allowance  for  a  man,  after  long  absence, 
paying  a  short  visit  to  a  country  full  of  friends, 
relations,  and  early  intimates  ?  Cannot  you 
guess,  my  Clarinda,  what  thoughts,  what  cares, 
what  anxious  forebodings,  hopes,  and  fears, 
must  crowd  the  breast  of  the  man  of  keen 
sensibility,  when  no  less  is  on  the  tapis  than  his 
aim,  his  employment,  his  very  existence  through 
future  life  ? 

To  be  overtopped  in  anything  else,  I  can 
bear  ;  but  in  the  tests  of  generous  love,  I  defy 
all  mankind  !  not  even  to  the  tender,  the  fond, 


Letters.  1 1 1 

the  loving  Clarinda ;  she  whose  strength  of 
attachment,  whose  melting  soul,  may  vie  with 
Eloise  and  Sappho  ;  not  even  she  can  overpay 
the  affection  she  owes  me ! 

Now  that,  not  my  apology,  but  my  defence 
is  made,  I  feel  my  soul  respire  more  easily. 
I  know  you  will  go  along  with  me  in  my 
justification  :  would  to  Heaven  you  could  in  my 
adoption,  too !  I  mean  an  adoption  beneath 
the  stars — an  adoption  where  I  might  revel  in 
the  immediate  beams  of 

"  She  the  bright  sun  of  all  her  sex." 

I  would  not  have  you,  my  dear  Madam,  so 
much  hurt  at  Miss  Nimmo's  coldness.  'Tis 
placing  yourself  below  her,  an  honour  she  by 
no  means  deserves.  We  ought,  when  we  wish 
to  be  economists  in  happiness — we  ought,  in 
the  first  place,  to  fix  the  standard  of  our  own 
character;  and  when,  on  full  examination,  we 
know  where  we  stand,  and  how  much  ground 
we  occupy,  let  us  contend  for  it  as  property  ; 
and  those  who  seem  to  doubt  or  deny  us  what 
is  justly  ours,  let  us  either  pity  their  prejudices 
or  despise  their  judgment.  I  know,  my  dear, 
you  will  say  this  is  self-conceit ;  but  I  call  it 


112  Burns'  Clarinda. 

self-knowledge :  the  one  is  the  overweening 
opinion  of  a  fool,  who  fancies  himself  to  be 
what  he  wishes  himself  to  be  thought ;  the 
other  is  the  honest  justice  that  a  man  of  sense, 
who  has  thoroughly  examined  the  subject,  owes 
to  himself.  Without  this  standard,  this  column 
in  our  own  mind,  we  are  perpetually  at  the 
mercy  of  the  petulance,  the  mistakes,  the  pre- 
judices, nay,  the  very  weakness  and  wickedness 
of  our  fellow-creatures. 

I  urge  this,  my  dear,  both  to  confirm  myself 
in  the  doctrine  which,  I  assure  you,  I  sometimes 
need,  and  because  I  know  that  this  causes  you 
often  much  disquiet.  To  return  to  Miss  Nimmo. 
She  is  most  certainly  a  worthy  soul ;  and 
equalled  by  very,  very  few  in  goodness  of  heart. 
But  can  she  boast  more  goodness  of  heart  than 
Clarinda  ?  Not  even  prejudice  will  dare  to  say 
so.  For  penetration  and  discernment,  Clarinda 
sees  far  beyond  her.  To  wit.  Miss  Nimmo  dare 
make  no  pretence  :  to  Clarinda's  wit,  scarce  any 
of  her  sex  dare  make  pretence.  Personal 
charms,  it  would  be  ridiculous  to  run  the 
parallel :  and  for  conduct  in  life.  Miss  Nimmo 
was  never  called  out,  either  much  to  do,  or  to 
suffer.     Clarinda  has  been  both  ;  and  has  per- 


Letters.  113 

formed   her    part,   where   Miss   Nimmo    would 
have  sunk  at  the  bare  idea. 

Away,  then,  with  these  disquietudes !  Let 
us  pray  with  the  honest  weaver  of  Kilbarchan, 
"  Lord,  send  us  a  gude  conceit  o'  oursel' ! "  or 
in  the  words  of  the  auld  sang — 

"  Who  does  me  disdain,  I  can  scorn  them  again, 
And  I'll  never  mind  any  such  foes." 

There  is  an  error  in  the  commerce  of 
intimacy.     .     .     . 

Happy  is  our  lot,  indeed,  when  we  meet  with 
an  honest  merchant,  who  is  qualified  to  deal 
with  us  on  our  own  terms  ;  but  that  is  a  rarity : 
with  almost  everybody  we  must  pocket  our 
pearls,  less  or  more,  and  learn,  in  the  old  Scots 
phrase,  "To  gie  sic  like  as  we  get."  For  this 
reason  we  should  try  to  erect  a  kind  of  bank 
or  storehouse  in  our  own  mind ;  or,  as  the 
Psalmist  says,  "We  should  commune  with  our 
own  hearts  and  be  still."    .     .     . 

I  wrote  you  yesternight,  which  will  reach  you 
long  before  this  can.  I  may  write  Mr  Ainslie 
before  I  see  him,  but  I  am  not  sure. 

Farewell !  and  remember 

Sylvander. 

H 


114  Bums*  Clarinda. 

No.  XXXVI. 

Sylvander  to  Clarinda. 

Monday  Noon  [March  17]. 

I  WILL  meet  you  to-morrow,  Clarinda,  as  you 
appoint.  My  Excise  affair  is  just  concluded, 
and  I  have  got  my  order  for  instructions  :  so 
far  good.  Wednesday  night  I  am  engaged  to 
sup  among  some  of  the  principals  of  the  Excise, 
so  can  only  make  a  call  for  you  that  evening ; 
but  next  day,  I  stay  to  dine  with  one  of 
the  Commissioners,  so  cannot  go  till  Friday 
morning. 

Your  hopes,  your  fears,  your  cares,  my  love, 
are  mine  ;  so  don't  mind  them.  I  will  take  you 
in  my  hand  through  the  dreary  wilds  of  this 
world,  and  scare  away  the  ravening  bird  or 
beast  that  would  annoy  you.  I  saw  Mary  in 
town  to-day,  and  asked  her  if  she  had  seen  you. 
I  shall  certainly  bespeak  Mr  Ainslie,  as  you 
desire. 

Excuse  me,  my  dearest  angel,  this  hurried 
scrawl  and  miserable  paper ;  circumstances 
make  both.     Farewell  till  to-morrow. 

Sylvander. 


Letters.  115 


No.  XXXVII. 

Sylvander  to  Clarinda. 

Tuesday  Morning  {March  18]. 
I  AM  just  hurrying  away  to  wait  on  the 
Great  Man,  Clarinda ;  but  I  have  more  respect 
to  my  own  peace  and  happiness  than  to  set  out 
without  waiting  on  you  ;  for  my  imagination, 
like  a  child's  favourite  bird,  will  fondly  flutter 
along  with  this  scrawl,  till  it  perch  on  your 
bosom.  I  thank  you  for  all  the  happiness  you 
bestowed  on  me  yesterday.  The  walk — de- 
lightful ;  the  evening  —  rapture.  Do  not  be 
uneasy  to-day,  Clarinda ;  forgive  me.  I  am  in 
rather  better  spirits  to-day,  though  I  had  but 
an  indifferent  night.  Care,  anxiety  sat  on  my 
spirits  ;  and  all  the  cheerfulness  of  this  morning 
is  the  fruit  of  some  serious,  important  ideas  that 
lie,  in  their  realities,  beyond  "  the  dark  and  the 
narrow  house,"  as  Ossian,  prince  of  poets,  says. 
The  Father  of  Mercies  be  with  you,  Clarinda  ! 
and  every  good  thing  attend  you ! 

Sylvander. 


Il6  Bum^  Clarinda. 

No.  XXXVIII. 
Sylvander  to  Clarinda. 

Wednesday  Morning  \.March  19]. 

Clarinda,  will  that  envious  night-cap  hinder 
you  from  appearing  at  the  window  as  I  pass? 
"  Who  is  she  that  looketh  forth  as  the  morning  ; 
fair  as  the  sun,  clear  as  the  moon,  terrible  as  an 
army  with  banners  ?  " 

Do  not  accuse  me  of  fond  folly  for  this  line ; 
you  know  I  am  a  cool  lover.  I  mean  by  these 
presents  greeting,  to  let  you  to  wit,  that  arch- 
rascal  Creech  has  not  done  my  business  yester- 
night, which  has  put  off  my  leaving  town  till 
Monday  morning.  To-morrow  at  eleven  I 
meet  with  him  for  the  last  time  ;  just  the  hour 
I  should  have  met  far  more  agreeable  company. 

You  will   tell  me  this  evening  whether  you 

cannot  make  our  hour  of  meeting  to-morrow 

one  o'clock.     I  have  just  now  written  Creech 

such  a  letter,  that  the  very  goose-feather  in  my 

hand  shrunk  back  from  the  line,  and  seemed  to 

say,  "  I  exceedingly  fear  and  quake  ! "     I  am 

forming   ideal    schemes   of    vengeance.     .     .     . 

Adieu,  and  think  on 

Sylvander. 


Letters.  i  17 

No.  XXXIX. 
Sylvander  to  Clarinda. 

Friday,  Nine  d clock.  Night  [March  21]. 
I  AM  just  now  come  in,  and  have  read  your 
letter.  The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  thank  the 
divine  Disposer  of  events,  that  He  has  had  such 
happiness  in  store  for  me  as  the  connexion  I 
have  with  you.  Life,  my  Clarinda,  is  a  weary, 
barren  path ;  and  woe  be  to  him  or  her  that 
ventures  on  it  alone!  For  me,  I  have  my 
dearest  partner  of  my  soul :  Clarinda  and  I  will 
make  out  our  pilgrimage  together.  Wherever  I 
am,  I  shall  constantly  let  her  know  how  I  go  on, 
what  I  observe  in  the  world  around  me,  and 
what  adventures  I  meet  with.  Will  it  please 
you,  my  love,  to  get  every  week,  or  at  least 
every  fortnight,  a  packet,  two  or  three  sheets, 
full  of  remarks,  nonsense,  news,  rhymes,  and  old 
songs?  Will  you  open,  with  satisfaction  and 
delight,  a  letter  from  a  man  who  loves  you,  who 
has  loved  you,  and  who  will  love  you  to  death, 
through  death,  and  for  ever  ?  Oh,  Clarinda ! 
what  do  I  owe  to  Heaven  for  blessing  me  with 
such  a  piece  of  exalted  excellence  as  you  !  I 
call  over  your  idea,  as  a  miser  counts  over  his 


Ii8  Burns'  Clarinda. 

treasure.  Tell  me,  were  you  studious  to  please 
me  last  night?  I  am  sure  you  did  it  to 
transport.  How  rich  am  I  who  have  such  a 
treasure  as  you  !  You  know  me ;  you  know 
how  to  make  me  happy ;  and  you  do  it  most 
effectually.     God  bless  you  with 

"  Long  life,  long  youth,  long  pleasure,  and  a  friend  !  " 

To-morrow  night,  according  to  your  own 
direction,  I  shall  watch  the  window :  'tis  the 
star  that  guides  me  to  paradise.  The  great 
relish  to  all  is,  that  Honour,  that  Innocence, 
that  Religion,  are  the  witnesses  and  guarantees 
of  our  happiness.  "  The  Lord  God  knoweth," 
and  perhaps  "  Israel  he  shall  know,"  my  love 
and  your  merit.  Adieu,  Clarinda  !  I  am  going 
to  remember  you  in  my  prayers. 

Sylvander. 

No.  XL. 

To  Clarinda. 

Madam,  March  9,  1789. 

The  letter  you  wrote  me  to  Heron's  carried 

its  own  answer  in  its  bosorji ;  you  forbade  me  to 

write  you,  unless  I  was  willing  to  plead  guilty 

to  a  certain  indictment  that  you  were  pleased  to 


Letters.  119 

bring  against  me.  As  I  am  convinced  of  my 
own  innocence,  and  though  conscious  of  high 
imprudence  and  egregious  folly,  can  lay  my 
hand  on  my  breast  and  attest  the  rectitude  of 
my  heart,  you  will  pardon  me.  Madam,  if  I  do 
not  carry  my  complaisance  so  far  as  humbly  to 
acquiesce  in  the  name  of  villain,  merely  out  of 
compliment  to  your  opinion,  much  as  I  esteem 
your  judgment,  and  warmly  as  I  regard  your 
worth. 

I  have  already  told  you,  and  I  again  aver  it, 
that  at  the  period  of  time  alluded  to  I  was  not 
under  the  smallest  moral  tie  to  Mrs  Burns ;  nor 
did  I,  nor  could  I,  then  know  all  the  powerful 
circumstances  that  omnipotent  necessity  was 
busy  laying  in  wait  for  me.  When  you  call 
over  the  scenes  that  have  passed  between  us, 
you  will  survey  the  conduct  of  an  honest  man, 
struggling  successfully  with  temptations  the 
most  powerful  that  ever  beset  humanity,  and 
preserving  untainted  honour  in  situations  where 
the  austerest  virtue  would  have  forgiven  a  fall ; 
situations  that,  I  will  dare  to  say,  not  a  single 
individual  of  all  his  kind,  even  with  half  his 
sensibility  and  passion,  could  have  encountered 
without  ruin  ;  and  I  leave  you  to  guess,  Madam, 


I20  Burns'  Clarinda. 

how  such  a  man  is  likely  to  digest  an  accusation 
of  perfidious  treachery. 

Was  I  to  blame,  Madam,  in  being  the  dis- 
tracted victim  of  charms  which,  I  affirm  it,  no 
man  ever  approached  with  impunity?  Had  I 
seen  the  least  glimmering  of  hope  that  these 
charms  could  ever  have  been  mine,  or  even  had 
not  iron  necessity  —  but  these  are  unavailing 
words. 

I  would  have  called  on  you  when  I  was  in 
town — indeed,  I  could  not  have  resisted  it — but 
that  Mr  Ainslie  told  me  that  you  were  deter- 
mined to  avoid  your  windows  while  I  was  in 
town,  lest  even  a  glance  of  me  should  occur  in 
the  street. 

When  I  have  regained  your  good  opinion, 
perhaps  I  may  venture  to  solicit  your  friend- 
ship ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  the  first  of  her  sex 
I  ever  knew  shall  always  be  the  object  of  my 
warmest  good  wishes.  R.  B. 

No.  XLI. 
Sylvander  to  Clarinda. 

February  1790  (?). 
I   HAVE  indeed  been  ill.  Madam,  the  whole 
winter.     An  incessant  headache,  depression  of 


Letters.  1 2 1 

spirits,  and  all  the  truly  miserable  consequences 
of  a  deranged  nervous  system,  have  made 
dreadful  havoc  of  my  health  and  peace.  Add 
to  all  this  a  line  of  life  into  which  I  have  lately 
entered  obliges  me  to  ride,  on  the  average,  at 
least  200  miles  every  week.  However,  thank 
Heaven,  I  am  now  greatly  better  in  my 
health.     .     .     . 

I  cannot,  will  not,  enter  into  extenuatory 
circumstances ;  else  I  could  show  you  how 
my  precipitate,  headlong,  unthinking  conduct 
leagued  with  a  conjuncture  of  unlucky  events 
to  thrust  me  out  of  a  possibility  of  keeping  the 
path  of  rectitude  to  curse  me,  by  an  irrecon- 
cilable war  between  my  duty  and  my  nearest 
wishes,  and  to  damn  me  with  a  choice  only  of 
different  species  of  error  and  misconduct. 

I  dare  not  trust  myself  further  with  this 
subject.  The  following  song  is  one  of  my 
latest  productions,  and  I  send  it  you  as  I 
would  do  anything  else,  because  it  pleases 
myself 

[Here  follows  "  My  Lovely  Nancy."] 


122  Burns'  Clarinda. 

No.  XLII. 
Sylvander  to  Clarinda. 

[Burns  had  been  to  Edinburgh  at  the  end  of  November 
and  beginning  of  December,  and  had  there  seen  Mrs 
M'Lehose.  She  had  resolved  to  go  to  her  worthless  but 
repentant  husband  in  Jamaica,  and  sailed  in  February 
1792.] 

I  HAVE  received  both  your  last  letters. 
Madam,  and  ought  and  would  have  answered 
the  first  long  ago.  But  on  what  subject  shall 
I  write  you?  How  can  you  expect  a  corre- 
spondent should  write  you  when  you  declare 
that  you  mean  to  preserve  his  letters,  with  a 
view,  sooner  or  later,  to  expose  them  in  the 
pillory  of  derision  and  the  rock  of  criticism? 
This  is  gagging  me  completely  as  to  speaking 
the  sentiments  of  my  bosom  ;  else,  Madam,  I 
could  perhaps  too  truly 

"  Join  grief  with  grief,  and  echo  sighs  to  thine  !  " 

I  have  perused  your  most  beautiful  but  most 
pathetic  poem  ;  do  not  ask  me  how  often  or 
with  what  emotions.  You  know  that  "  I  dare 
to  j/«,  but  not  to  Her  Your  verses  wring  the 
confession  from  my  inmost  soul,  that — I  will 
say  it,  expose  it  if  you   please — that  I   have 


Letters.  123 

more  than  once  in  my  life  been  the  victim  of 
a  damning  conjuncture  of  circumstances  ;  and 
that  to  see  you  must  be  ever 

"  Dear  as  the  light  that  visits  these  sad  eyes." 

I  have  just,  since  I  had  yours,  composed  the 
following  stanzas.  Let  me  know  your  opinion 
of  them. 

[Here  are  transcribed  the  lines   beginning,  "  Sweet 
Sensibility,  how  charming,"  &c.] 


No.  XLIII. 

To  Clarinda. 

[Enclosing  the  "  Lament  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots," 
Burns  wrote  as  follows  : — ] 

Leadhills,  Thursday  Noon  {Dec.  11,  1791]. 

Such,  my  dearest  Clarinda,  were  the  words  of 

the  amiable  but  unfortunate  Mary.     Misfortune 

seems  to  take  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  darting  her 

arrows  against  "  honest  men  and  bonnie  lasses." 

Of  this  you  are  too,  too  just  a  proof;  but  may 

your  future  be  a  bright  exception  to  the  remark. 

In  the  words  of  Hamlet — 

"  Adieu,  adieu,  adieu  !     Remember  me." 

Sylvan  DER. 


124  Burns*  Clarinda. 

No.  XLIV. 
To  Clarinda. 

Dumfries  [December  15  (?),  1791]. 

I  HAVE  some  merit,  my  ever  dearest  of  women, 
in  attracting  and  securing  the  honest  heart  of 
Clarinda.  In  her  I  meet  with  the  most  accom- 
plished of  all  womankind,  the  first  of  all  God's 
works,  and  yet  I,  even  I,  have  the  good  fortune 
to  appear  amiable  in  her  sight. 

By  the  by,  this  is  the  sixth  letter  that  I  have 
written  since  I  left  you  ;  and  if  you  were  an 
ordinary  being,  as  you  are  a  creature  very  ex- 
traordinary— an  instance  of  what  God  Almighty, 
in  the  plenitude  of  His  power  and  the  fulness 
of  His  goodness,  can  make ! — I  would  never 
forgive  you  for  not  answering  my  letters. 

I  have  sent  your  hair,  a  part  of  the  parcel 
you  gave  me,  with  a  measure,  to  Mr  Brice,  the 
jeweller,  to  get  a  ring  done  for  me.  I  have 
likewise  sent  in  the  verses  "  On  Sensibility," 
altered  to — 

"  Sensibility,  how  charming, 
Dearest  Nancy,  thou  can  tell,"  &c., 

to  the  editor  of  "  Scots  Songs,"  of  which  you 


Letters.  125 

have  three  volumes,  to  set  to  a  most  beautiful 

air — out  of  compliment  to  the  first  of  women, 

my  ever-beloved,  my  ever-sacred   Clarinda.     I 

shall   probably   write  you   to-morrow.     In    the 

meantime,  from  a  man  who  is  literally  drunk 

accept  and  forgive ! 

R.  B. 

No.  XLV. 

To  Clarinda. 

I  SUPPOSE,  my  dear  Madam,  that  by  your 
neglecting  to  inform  me  of  your  arrival  in 
Europe — a  circumstance  that  could  not  be  in- 
different to  me,  as  indeed  no  occurrence  relating 
to  you  can — you  meant  to  leave  me  to  guess 
and  gather  that  a  correspondence  I  once  had 
the  honour  and  felicity  to  enjoy  is  to  be  no 
more.  Alas!  what  heavy-laden  sounds  are 
these — "No  more!"  The  wretch  who  has  never 
tasted  pleasure  has  never  known  woe:  what 
drives  the  soul  to  madness  is  the  recollection 
of  joys  that  are  "  no  more ! "  But  this  is  not 
language  to  the  world :  they  do  not  understand 
it.  But  come,  ye  few — the  children  of  feeling 
and  sentiment! — ye  whose  trembling  bosom- 
chords   ache  to   unutterable   anguish   as  recol- 


126  Burns'  Clarinda. 

lection  gushes  on  the  heart! — ye  who  are 
capable  of  an  attachment  keen  as  the  arrows 
of  Death,  and  strong  as  the  vigour  of  immortal 
being — come !  and  your  ears  shall  drink  a  tale — 
But  hush !  I  must  not,  cannot,  tell  it ;  agony  is 
in  the  recollection,  and  frenzy  in  the  recital ! 

But,  Madam,  to  leave  the  paths  that  lead  to 
madness,  I  congratulate  your  friends  on  your 
return;  and  I  hope  that  the  precious  health, 
which  Miss  P.  tells  me  is  so  much  injured,  is 
restored  or  restoring.     .     .     . 

I  present  you  a  book :  may  I  hope  you  will 
accept  it?  I  daresay  you  will  have  brought 
your  books  with  you.  The  fourth  vol.  of  the 
"Scots  Songs"  is  published.  {August  1792.] 
I  will  presume  to  send  it  you.  Shall  I  hear 
from  you?  But  first  hear  me.  No  cold  language 
— no  prudential  documents :  I  despise  advice 
and  scorn  control.  If  you  are  not  to  write  such 
language,  such  sentiments,  as  you  know  I  shall 
wish,  shall  delight  to  receive,  I  conjure  you,  by 
wounded  pride,  by  ruined  peace,  by  frantic  dis- 
appointed passion,  by  all  the  many  ills  that 
constitute  that  sum  of  human  woes,  a  broken 
heart ! ! !  to  me  be  silent  for  ever.    .    .    . 

R.  B. 


Letters.  1 27 

No.  XLVI. 
To  Clarinda. 

Before  you  ask  me  why  I  have  not  written 
you,  first  let  me  be  informed  by  you,  how  I  shall 
write  you ?  "In  friendship,"  you  say ;  and  I 
have  many  a  time  taken  up  my  pen  to  try  an 
epistle  of  "  friendship "  to  you,  but  it  will  not 
do ;  'tis  like  Jove  grasping  a  popgun  after  hav- 
ing wielded  his  thunder.  When  I  take  up  the 
pen,  recollection  ruins  me.  Ah,  my  ever-dearest 
Clarinda !  Clarinda !  What  a  host  of  memory's 
tenderest  offspring  crowd  on  my  fancy  at  that 
sound !  But  I  must  not  indulge  that  subject ; 
you  have  forbid  it. 

I  am  extremely  happy  to  learn  that  your 
precious  health  is  re-established,  and  that  you 
are  once  more  fit  to  enjoy  that  satisfaction  in 
existence  which  health  alone  can  give  us.  My 
old  friend  Ainslie  has  indeed  been  kind  to  you. 
Tell  him,  that  I  envy  him  the  power  of  serving 
you.  I  had  a  letter  from  him  a  while  ago,  but 
it  was  so  dry,  so  distant,  so  like  a  card  to  one  of 
his  clients,  that  I  could  scarce  bear  to  read  it, 
and  have  not  yet  answered  it.     He  is  a  good, 


128  Bums'  Clarinda. 

honest  fellow,  and  can  write  a  friendly  letter, 
which  would  do  equal  honour  to  his  head  and 
his  heart,  as  a  whole  sheaf  of  his  letters  which 
I  have  by  me  will  witness ;  and  though  Fame 
does  not  blow  her  trumpet  at  my  approach  now 
as  she  did  then^  when  he  first  honoured  me  with 
his  friendship,  yet  I  am  as  proud  as  ever ;  and 
when  I  am  laid  in  my  grave,  I  wish  to  be 
stretched  at  my  full  length,  that  I  may  occupy 
every  inch  of  ground  I  have  a  right  to. 

You  would  laugh  were  you  to  see  me  where  I 
am  just  now.  Would  to  Heaven  you  were  here 
to  laugh  with  me,  though  I  am  afraid  that  crying 
would  be  our  first  employment !  Here  am  I 
set,  a  solitary  hermit,  in  the  solitary  room  of  a 
solitary  inn,  with  a  solitary  bottle  of  wine  by 
me,  as  grave  and  as  stupid  as  an  owl,  but,  like 
that  owl,  still  faithful  to  my  old  song ;  in  con- 
firmation of  which,  my  dear  Mrs  Mac,  here  is 
your  good  health  !  May  the  hand-waled  beni- 
sons  o'  Heaven  bless  your  bonnie  face ;  and  the 
wratch  wha  skellies  at  your  welfare,  may  the 
auld  tinkler  deil  get  him,  to  clout  his  rotten 
heart !     Amen. 

You  must  know,  my  dearest  Madam,  that 
these  now  many  years,  wherever  I  am,  in  what- 


Letters.  t2§ 

ever  company,  when  a  married  lady  is  called  as 
a  toast,  I  constantly  give  you ;  but  as  your 
name  has  never  passed  my  lips,  even  to  my  most 
intimate  friend,  I  give  you  by  the  name  of  Mrs 
Mac.  This  is  so  well  known  among  my  acquaint- 
ances, that  when  any  married  lady  is  called  for, 
the  toast-master  will  say :  "  Oh,  we  need  not 
ask  him  who  it  is  :  here's  M  rs  Mack  !  "  I  have 
also,  among  my  convivial  friends,  set  on  foot  a 
round  of  toasts,  which  I  call  a  round  of  Arcadian 
Shepherdesses — that  is,  a  round  of  favourite 
ladies,  under  female  names  celebrated  in  ancient 
song ;  and  then  you  are  my  Clarinda.  So,  my 
lovely  Clarinda,  I  devote  this  glass  of  wine  to  a 
most  ardent  wish  for  your  happiness. 

In  vain  would  Prudence,  with  decorous  sneer, 
Point  out  a  censuring  world,  and  bid  me  fear  : 
Above  that  world  on  wings  of  love  I  rise  ; 
I  know  its  worst,  and  can  that  worst  despise. 

"  Wronged,  injured,  shunned,  unpitied,  unredrest — 
The  mocked  quotation  of  the  scorner's  jest " — 
Let  Prudence'  direst  bodements  on  me  fall, 
Clarinda,  rich  reward  !  o'erpays  them  all. 

I  have  been  rhyming  a  little  of  late,  but  I  do 
not  know  if  they  are  worth  postage. 
I 


136  .        hums'  Clarinda. 

Tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  following 
monody. 

The  subject  of  the  foregoing  is  a  woman  of 
fashion  in  this  country,*  with  whom  at  one 
period  I  was  well  acquainted.  By  some  scan- 
dalous conduct  to  me,  and  two  or  three  other 
gentlemen  here  as  well  as  me,  she  steered  so 
far  to  the  north  of  my  good  opinion,  that  I 
have  made  her  the  theme  of  several  ill-natured 
things.     .     .     . 

R.  B. 

*  Mrs  Riddel. 


NOTES  ON  CLARINDA 
AND  HER  CORRESPONDENCE. 


Notes  on  the 
Clarinda  Correspondence. 

By  John  Muir,  F.S.A.  Scot. 


In  the  letter  with  which  he  opens  his  cele- 
brated correspondence  with  Clarinda,  Burns 
mentions  some  lines  of  his  which  he  commends 
in  a  style  so  unwonted  when  speaking  of  his 
own  work,  that  we  cannot  but  regret  that  they 
have  not  been  preserved.  He  writes,  December 
3,  1787  :— 

"  Our  worthy  friend,  in  her  usual  pleasant 
way,  rallied  me  a  good  deal  on  my  new 
acquaintance,  and  in  the  humour  of  her  ideas 
I  wrote  some  lines,  which  I  enclose  you,  as 
I  think  they  have  a  good  deal  of  poetic  merit ; 
and  Miss  Nimmo  tells  me  you  are  not  only  a 
critic  but  a  poetess.  Fiction,  you  know,  is  the 
native  region  of  poetry  ;  and  I  hope  you  will 
pardon  my  vanity  in  sending  you  the  bagatelle 
as  a  tolerable  of{-\i?ir\d  j'eu-d' esprit." 

Clarinda  replied,  December  8,  1787  : — 


134  Burns'  Clarinda. 

"  Your  lines  were  truly  poetical ;  give  me  all 
you  can  spare.  Not  one  living  has  a  higher 
relish  for  poetry  than  I  have  ;  and  my  reading 
everything  of  the  kind  makes  me  a  tolerable 
judge.  Ten  years  ago  such  lines  from  such  a 
hand  would  have  half  turned  my  head.  Perhaps 
you  thought  it  might  have  done  so  even  yet^ 
and  wisely  premised  that  '  fiction  was  the 
native  region  of  poetry.'  Read  the  enclosed, 
which  I  scrawled  just  after  reading  yours.  Be 
sincere,  and  own  that,  whatever  merit  it  has,  it 
has  not  a  line  resembling  poetry." 

Clarinda's  lines  in  reply  to  those  of  Burns 
seem  not  to  have  been  preserved. 

In  the  fifth  letter  from  Burns  to  Mrs 
M'Lehose,  and  the  first  letter  in  which  the  fair 
correspondent  is  described  Clarinda  by  the  poet, 
who  signs  himself  Sylvander,  he  refers  to  a  short 
letter,  which  has  also  been  lost,  accompanying 
some  impromptu  verses.  In  that  letter  the  poet 
very  probably  explained  the  reason  for  using  the 
Arcadian  appellations  ;  but  it  is  just  possible 
Mrs  M'Lehose  was  the  first  to  sign  herself 
Clarinda,  and  that  the  poet  followed  suit  by 
adopting  Sylvander  as  his  nom  de  guerre.  On 
December  28,  1787,  he  writes  : — 


Notes.  135 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  '  Clarinda,'  for 
the  fragment  scrawl  I  sent  you  yesterday.  I 
really  don't  know  what  I  wrote." 

"  Yesterday  "  would  be  the  27th  of  December; 
but  the  letter  from  the  poet  immediately  pre- 
ceding the  one  from  which  our  extract  is  made, 
is  dated  Thursday,  20th  December. 

Clarinda,  writing  under  date  January  3,  1788, 
says  : — 

"  I  got  your  lines  :  they  are  *  in  kind ! '  I 
can't  but  laugh  at  my  presumption  in  pretending 
to  send  my  poor  ones  to  you  !  but  it  was  to 
amuse  myself." 

Here,  again,  remarks  Mr  W.  Scott  Douglas, 
the  lines  of  Burns  have  been  lost  through 
some  unaccountable  remissness  on  the  part  of 
his  correspondent.  But,  indeed,  when  scraps  of 
the  bard's  handwriting  grew  invaluable,  Clarinda 
became  the  prey  of  covetous  collectors. 

These  notes  may  be  appropriately  brought 
to  a  conclusion  by  a  few  remarks  on  the  mis- 
readings  of  Burns's  manuscripts  to  be  noticed 
in  collating  the  originals  with  the  printed  letters 
given  in  the  Clarinda  correspondence. 

In  the  letter  assigned  to  December  20,  1787, 
"  I  cannot  positively  say "  has  been  misprinted 


136  Burns'  Clarinda. 

"  I  cannot  possibly  say "  ;  "  something  of 
honour"  has  been  altered  to  "something  like 
honour " ;  and  "  a  vague  infant  idea "  to  "  a 
faint  idea  "  ;  while  inverted  commas  have  been 
inserted  after,  instead  of  before,  "  death,"  in 
"  death  without  benefit  of  clergy." 

In  another  letter,  dated  February  20,  1788, 
"  concubinage  "  is  represented  by  asterisks,  and 
"  hinted  at "  has  been  substituted  for  "  insisted 
on."     "  Good  things  "  should  be  in  italics. 

One  other  letter  of  the  series,  assigned  to 
January  29,  1788,  first  printed  by  Stewart  in 
1802,  should  be  dated  at  the  top  "Tuesday 
Morn,"  and  "  Love "  should  be  substituted  for 
"  Clarinda "  in  the  first  line.  The  MS.  is  de- 
fective at  the  end,  the  last  word  being  "  hurry," 
as  printed. 


A  Glimpse  of  Clarinda. 


In  Edinburgh  "Sixty  Years  Since." 
By  James  Adams,  M.D,,  Glasgow. 


{From  Glasgow  Daily  Mail,   I'jth  August  1895.) 
Printed  by  permission  of  the  Author. 

"  Ah,  did  you  once  see  Shelley  plain, 
And  did  he  stop  and  speak  to  you, 
And  did  you  speak  to  him  again .? 
How  strange  it  seems,  and  new." 

"Oh  yes,  I  knew  the  Duke  of  Wellington," 
said  one  of  "the  masses."  "Well,  we  hadn't 
much  talk  ;  for  he  was  riding  on  horseback,  and 
I  was  walking  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and — 
yes — he  damned  me  to  get  out  of  the  way.  Oh, 
he  was  a  big,  brave  man,  and  very  easy  in  his 
manners." 

By  how  many  has  it  been  regarded  as  a  dis- 
tinction or  a  memory  worth  recalling  that  he 
has  shaken  hands  with  O'Connell  or  Gladstone, 


138  Burns^  Clarinda. 

hobnobbed  with  Pritchard  the  poisoner,  or 
"  rubbed  shouthers  vvi'  Burns."  For  he  can  say 
better  than  his  neighbour  whether  they  were 
tall,  thin  or  squat,  fair  or  dark,  old  or  young, 
pleasant  or  grim  of  visage.  Very  trivial  are 
such  particulars,  but  they  fill  in  lights  or 
shadows  of  an  otherwise  imperfect  sketch,  which 
no  mere  portrait-painter's  brush  can  give.  Thus, 
I  have  never  been  able  to  see  in  my  "  mind's 
eye  "  the  everyday  aspect  of  Burns  so  well  as 
through  the  presentment  given  in  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  reminiscence  of  one  meeting.  And  I 
never,  without  having  my  conception  blurred, 
can  look  upon  that  commonplace  map  of  Burns' 
features  delineated  in  the  cheap  copies  of  the 
familiar  Nasmyth  portrait  (not  his  full-length 
picture)  which  a  loyal  Burnsite  has  termed 
"that  wishy-washy  sheep-like  face,"  but  with  a 
conviction  that,  if  the  striped  vest  with  collar 
and  coat  with  broad  lapels  were  removed,  and 
the  face  of  any  stout  man  of  about  twenty-eight 
years  substituted,  it  would  be  a  case  of  "take 
your  choice."  It  is  stated  that  Disraeli  would 
not  believe  the  oath  of  a  man  who  could  declare 
he  preferred  dry  to  sweet  champagne ;  and  I 
have  similar  disbelief  of  the  person  who  pro- 


A   Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  139 

fesses  to  see  in  the  frequent  tea-tray  portraits 
of  Burns,  the  characteristic  man,  so  instantly 
cognoscible  in  caricatures  even  of  Napoleon, 
Gladstone,  Bismarck,  and  such  notabilities. 
"  Burns'  features,"  says  Sir  W.  Scott,  "  are  re- 
presented in  Mr  Nasmyth's  picture,  but  to  me 
it  conveys  the  idea  that  they  are  diminished  as 
if  seen  in  perspective,  .  .  .  there  was  a  strong 
expression  of  sense  and  shrewdness  in  all  his 
lineaments.  .  .  .  The  eye  was  large,  and  of  a 
dark  cast,  which  glowed  (I  say  literally  glowed) 
when  he  spoke  with  feeling  or  interest.  I 
never  saw  such  another  eye  in  a  human  head, 
and  he  rewarded  me  with  a  look  and  a  word, 
which,  although  of  mere  civility,  I  then  received, 
and  still  recollect  with  very  great  pleasure." 
Such  is  Scott's  record  of  the  impression  made 
on  him,  a  lad  of  fifteen,  when  he  met  Burns  in 
a  company  "where  youngsters  sate  silent  and 
listened." 

Referring  to  Clarinda,  it  has  been  long  known 
to  some  of  my  intimate  friends  that  I  passed  an 
entire  evening  in  a  social  party  with  that  lady, 
when  I  was  of  sufficient  age  to  observe,  and 
they  have  often  urged  on  me,  as  one  of  the 
very   few   surviving   links   between    the  era   of 


140  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Burns  and  the  present,  that  I  should  narrate 
that  experience,  which,  however  trivial  or  plainly 
told,  cannot  fail  to  be  interesting,  because  re- 
lating to  an  individual  who  occupied  so  much 
of  the  thoughts  and  pen  of  Burns.  But  so  little 
of  a  story  have  I  to  tell,  that  it  is  with 
much  misgiving  I  have  yielded  to  persistent 
insistence. 

It  chanced  in  Edinburgh  (my  birthplace)  that, 
when  more  than  half-way  through  my  "teens," 
and  at  the  beginning  of  my  medical  curriculum, 
I  formed  a  temporary  intimacy  with  a  much 
older  fellow-student,  who,  beyond  any  individual 
I  have  ever  known,  was  stuffed  with  Scottish 
songs,  stories,  and  drolleries,  as  full  as  is  a 
linnet  with  melodious  impulse.  He  resided  with 
his  parents  at  the  Calton  Hill,  in  a  little  by- 
street which  branched  off  to  the  left  from  the 
east  end  of  Waterloo  Place,  just  where  that 
main  thoroughfare  reaches  the  Calton  Hill.  My 
friend  invited  me  to  a  small  evening  party, 
where  he  assured  me  I  would  have  a  "bellyful 
of  Scottish  song,"  that  being,  as  he  knew,  my 
weakness.  It  was  no  juvenile  or  dancing  affair, 
but  a  company  of  about  a  dozen  middle-aged 
individuals — decent  tradesmen,  with  their  wives 


A   Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  141 

and  other  relatives — and  I  was  the  youngest 
person  present.  There  was  a  supper,  at  which 
port  and  sherry  in  decanters  were  on  the  table, 
but  scarcely  touched  ;  and  whisky  toddy  was 
served  with  the  viands.  Song,  toast,  sentiment, 
and  story  were  the  order  of  the  evening,  con- 
tributed by  all  in  rotation  under  the  option  of 
drinking  a  glass  of  salt  and  water,  placed  in 
readiness,  but  on  this  occasion  left  untouched. 
There  was  present  a  chirpy  old  lady,  who,  from 
subsequent  information,  I  know  must  have  been 
about  seventy-five  years  of  age,  but  it  was  a 
considerable  time  afterwards  I  learned  that  in 
her  an  angel  had  entertained  me  unawares  ;  and 
that  the  "  Mrs  M'Lehose,"  with  whom  I  shook 
hands  and  interchanged  ordinary  civilities  dur- 
ing the  evening,  was  the  far-famed  "Clarinda, 
mistress  of  the  soul,"  of  Burns.  It  was  evident 
that  she  was  an  intimate  friend,  and  highly  re- 
garded by  the  household.  My  friend,  the  son 
of  our  host,  whispered  to  me  early  in  the  even- 
ing that  she  was  a  next-door  neighbour,  "  a  real 
game  old  lady,"  and  an  old  sweetheart  of  Burns  ; 
but  he  did  not  further  enlighten  me ;  and  at  the 
moment  I  gave  her  little  more  consideration  than 
I  did  others  present,  of  all  of  whom   I   retain 


142  Burns'  Clarinda, 

quite  as  vivid  a  recollection.  The  company  was 
what  many  might  consider  very  commonplace. 
Our  host  was  a  respectable  master  tailor ;  one 
of  the  ladies  a  prosperous  ladies'  milliner — a 
fact  impressed  on  me  during  a  discussion  on 
bonnets,  then  of  a  coal-scuttle  shape,  and  made 
of  Leghorn  straw,  both  of  which  peculiarities, 
she  confidently  affirmed,  would  never  be  out 
of  fashion  ;  a  taciturn  ship  captain  from  Leith, 
with  his  sister,  a  lackadaisical,  old-maidish 
damsel,  bedecked  with  numerous  thin  corkscrew 
curls  ;  a  hard-featured  schoolmaster,  or  student's 
"grinder"  in  classics  and  mathematics;  a  coarse- 
mannered,  boisterous  master  baker  ;  while  a  few 
others,  more  vaguely  recollected,  made  up  the 
company.  To  many  the  songs  now  before  my 
retrospection  may  be  familiar,  but  to  me  the 
musical  part  of  the  proceedings  was  most 
gratifying,  some  of  the  songs  being  heard  by 
me  for  the  first  time.  Indeed,  I  have  a  much 
more  perfect  recollection  of  the  songs  than  of 
the  conversation.  The  sentimental  young  lady 
sang  "  Alice  Gray,"  and  the  "  Meeting  of  the 
Waters  "  ;  her  brother,  "  The  Carse  o'  Gowrie  "  ; 
the  baker,  "  The  Auld  Man's  Mear's  Deid,"  and 
"  The  Haughs  of  Cromdale,"  both  of  which  he 


A   Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  143 

gave  with  a  "  birr  "  and  intensity  of  feeling  that 
seemed  to  thrill  him  to  the  soul.  The  school- 
master sang  "  Tak'  your  auld  Cloak  about  ye," 
and  "  O  Nanny,  wilt  thou  gang  wi'  me,"  with  a 
sweetness,  tenderness,  and  humour  that  irradi- 
ated his  countenance  and  showed  how  little 
one's  outer  aspect  may  correspond  with  the 
inner  nature.  Indeed,  often  as  I  have  heard 
these  songs,  I  have  never  since  been  so  im- 
pressed, and  all  the  more  because  his  outer 
man  seemed  so  rigidly  severe.  The  ladies' 
milliner,  a  jolly- featured  stout  lady,  with  a 
deep  contralto  voice,  excited  our  admiring 
merriment  by  the  petulant  girlish  manner  in 
which  she  sang  "  I  won't  be  a  Nun,"  which 
begins,  I  think — 

"  Now  is  it  not  a  pity,  such  a  pretty  girl  as  I 
Should  be  sent  into  a  Nunnery,  to  pine  away  and  die  ; 
But  I  won't  be  a  Nun — I  shan't  be  a  Nun,"  &c.  &c. 

The  plaudits  she  elicited  would  in  a  concert- 
room  have  meant  a  determined  encore,  and 
therefore  with  little  pause  she  gave  us,  in 
great  contrast,  a  very  pathetic  rendering  of 
"  Her  eyes  with  her  pale  hands  are  shaded." 
I  was  much  taken  aback  for  the  moment  when 


144  Bums*  Clarinda. 

she  concluded  and  (with  scarce  an  interval) 
abruptly  called  upon  me  for  a  song,  for  it  was 
a  privilege  of  the  last  singer  to  have  "  the  call  " 
for  the  next.  I,  however,  gave,  and  doubtless 
in  my  very  best  style  con  amore  con  spirito,  my 
pet  song,  "  She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a' "  ; 
and  I  have  often  regretted  I  did  not  take  note 
of  Clarinda's  face  as  she  listened  to  almost  the 
only  song  of  Burns'  that  was  sung  that  evening. 
A  fount  of  memories  must  surely  have  been 
opened.  Of  two  songs,  one  a  solo,  the  other 
a  chorus,  I  have  a  very  special  recollection,  as 
they  were  both  heard  by  me  for  the  first  time — 
indeed  of  the  latter  I  should  say,  the  only  time, 
although  I  have  since  been  told  that  it  is  well 
enough  known.  These  two  songs  brought  Mrs 
M'Lehose  conspicuously  under  my  observation. 
The  solo  was  contributed  by  my  student-friend, 
evidently  a  favourite  with  Clarinda,  who  seemed 
to  relish  his  pawky  drolleries  and  broad  humour 
much  more  than  the  ambitious  efforts  of  some 
others  of  the  company. 

And  here  I  have  found  myself  almost  uncon- 
sciously, or  rather  unavoidably,  drifted  into 
details  of  this  to  me  very  memorable  evening, 
because  they  illustrate,  and  were  in  some  respects 


A  Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  145 

characteristic  of,  middle-class  social  gatherings 
of  the  Edinburgh  of  that  day,  or  "sixty  years 
since."  There  was  no  "wet  blanket"  in  the 
company  to  damp  the  current  of  song,  recitation, 
toast,  and  anecdote,  which,  with  little  inter- 
mission, incited  animated  conversation.  Indeed, 
I  never  formed  one  of  a  group  of  more  keenly 
appreciative  listeners  and  commentators.  The 
solo  to  which  I  refer  was  "  My  Wife  has  ta'en 
the  Gee,"  and  the  boyish  Lord-Rosebery  cast 
of  my  friend's  countenance  as  he  enacted  the 
henpecked  husband  deprecating  the  sulks  of  his 
wife,  contrasted  so  much  with  his  enactment  of 
a  married  man  that  the  effect  was  irresistibly 
ludicrous.  The  merriment  became  contagious, 
and  the  company  was  convulsed  with  sympa- 
thetic laughter.  Clarinda  in  particular  went  off 
into  frequent  "  kinks,"  ejaculating  now^  and 
again,  "  Oh,  stop  him  !  take  him  away !  put  him 
out ! "  while  he  perforce  made  occasional  pauses, 
gravely  resuming  as  an  interval  of  quiet  per- 
mitted. When  he  finished,  she  declared,  while 
breathlessly  panting  and  wiping  her  eyes,  that 
"  she  did  not  know  what  he  deserved  for  causing 
her  to  make  such  an  object  of  herself"  I  re- 
member being  strongly  impressed  with  the  old 
K 


146  Burns'  Clarinda. 

lady's  vivacious   manner  and   lively  spirits,  so 
rare  in  one  of  her  advanced  years. 

As  "  the  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs  and  clatter," 
and  toasts  were  being  drunk,  the  ladies  approv- 
ing by  sipping  modestly  at  their  small  glasses 
duly  kept  charged  from  big  "  rummers  "  by  the 
beau  selected  by  each  lady  for  that  duty,  the 
gentlemen  showed  their  disposition  to  "let  the 
toast  pass"  as  "an  excuse  for  the  glass,"  by 
occasionally  crying  "  clean  caup  out,"  and  de- 
monstrating by  turning  their  glass  upside  down 
that  it  had  been  fairly  emptied.  Mrs  M'Lehose, 
although  she  did  not  contribute  solos,  joined  in 
the  choruses  with  the  youngest,  and  took  her 
turn  in  proposing  toasts  and  sentiments.  These 
were  varied,  being  personal,  general,  and  some 
more  homely  than  polished,  as  "  May  ne'er  waur 
be  amang  us,"  "  Our  noble  selves,"  "  Thumpin' 
luck  and  fat  weans,"  &c.  Clarinda's  first  toast 
tickled  very  much  our  sense  of  humour.  Look- 
ing round  on  the  expectant  company  to  be 
assured  that  all  were  charged,  she  proposed  in 
impressive  tone,  "  Our  foes  " — carrying  her  glass 
to  her  lips,  but  pausing  as  if  from  an  after- 
thought while  the  company  waited  in  puzzled 
suspense,  she  sharply  added,  "  Short  shoes  and 


A   Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  147 

corny  toes,"  and  took  off  her  glass  with  a  smack. 
This,  of  course,  was  rapturously  applauded,  and 
her  health  drunk  "  clean  caup  out."  One  of  the 
chorus  songs,  which  included  "  Blythe,  blythe, 
and  merry  are  we,"  I  heard,  or  rather  saw,  per- 
formed for  the  first  and,  indeed,  only  time,  al- 
though it  is  not  so  rare  as  I  long  supposed. 
The  company  were  called  to  their  feet  by  him 
who  for  the  nonce  acted  as  leader  or  "  fugle- 
man," viz.,  the  baker  aforesaid,  and  we  were 
instructed  to  follow  and  imitate  him  exactly. 
He  stepped  a  pace  behind  his  chair,  and  chanted 
a  doggerel  lilt  with  corresponding  gestures — 

"  A'  your  right  hands  in,  an'  a'  your  left  hands  out, 
Gie  yoursel's  a  skelp,  an'  turn  ye  round  about. 

Chorus— 
An'  hey  for  Ronald  Macdonald,and  ho  for  Ronald  Macdhu, 
An'  hey  for  Ronald  Macdonald  ;  we'll  a'  get  roarin'  fu' ! " 

Whereupon  all,  with  one  hand  elevated  in  front 
and  one  extended  behind,  slapped  our  thighs, 
wheeled  and  turned  vigorously,  coming  back  to 
precision.as  soldiers  do  at  "present  arms."  Some- 
times our  fugleman  directed  "  fore  ends  in  "  and 
"  back  ends  out,"  "  noses  in  "  and  "  lang  tongues 
out":  the  wheeling,  singing,  and  skelping  giving 


148  Burns'  Clarinda. 

us  all  an  exhilarating  variety  from  the  monotony 
of  a  long  sitting,  equal  to  that  of  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley,  or  other  spirited  country  dance. 
Clarinda  sang,  postured,  skelped,  and  wheeled 
as  vigorously  as  the  foremost,  and  clearly  with 
as  much  enjoyable  abandon  as  she  could  have 
done  sixty  years  previously,  when  amid  her 
school  companions  she  danced  "  Here  we  go  by 
jingo-ring,  and  round  the  merry  ma-tanzie,"  or 
any  other  of  the  out-of-door  sports  of  Scottish 
girls. 

We  are  all  but  children  of  a  larger  growth,  and 
man  is  ever  the  same  in  his  modes  of  thought 
and  incentives  to  action.  The  Modern,  trained 
in  "  dancing  -  school  deportment,"  who  may  be 
reading  with  disdainful  smile  my  reminiscences 
of  the  free  and  easy  habits  I  am  describing  of 
middle-class  Edinburgh  society  sixty  years  since, 
must  be  reminded  of  the  saying  that  if  you 
"  scratch  the  Russian  you  will  find  the  Tartar  " ; 
that  if  you  strip  the  toga  from  the  man  you  will 
reveal  the  pinafore  of  the  boy.  These  sayings 
are  true  at  all  times,  and  equally  true  that  "  a 
little  nonsense  now  and  then  is  relished  by  the 
wisest  men."  "  Leave  off,"  said  a  great  man 
when  caught  at  some  boy-play,  "  leave  off,  for 


A  Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  149 

here   comes   a  fool"   that    fool    being   a   Court 
functionary  of  many  titles. 

And  here  I  admit  that  I  had  many  misgivings 
that  in  venturing  to  pen  my  "  Glimpse  of 
Clarinda,"  there  was  risk  of  making  sport  for  the 
Philistines,  and  grating  the  teeth  of  those  who 
can  only  contemplate  Burns'  heroines  through 
roseate  curtains  of  the  poet's  imagination,  if  I 
described  her,  the  inspirer  of  "  Sensibility,  how 
charming,"  while  engaged  in  a  game  of  romps, 
where  refinement,  modish  tinsel,  and  varnish 
seemed  to  have  no  place.  But  in  contrasting  the 
manners  of  Clarinda's  bygone  time  with  those 
of  the  present,  I  think  there  is  little  to  be  noted 
of  material  change  save  variation  or  "  marking 
time,"  as  soldiers  do  while  actively  moving  but 
not  advancing.  There  has  been  no  real  progress 
in  refinement  since  her  day.  The  usages  of  a 
hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  back  of  the 
best  Scotch  society,  to  which  Burns  had  occasional 
access,  he  has  indicated  in  a  letter  describing  his 
visit  to  a  country  mansion,  where  he  with  other 
guests  and  the  young  ladies  of  the  family  played 
"high  jinks"  in  the  drawing-room,  "flying  at 
Bab  at  the  Bowster "  and  other  romping  games 
till  early  in  the  morning.     His  intercourse  with 


150  Burns*  Clarinda. 

male  society — with  the  Crochallan  Club  in  Edin- 
burgh— the  dining  parties  at  country  gentlemen's 
houses  (as  illustrated  in  Sir  W.  Scott's  "  Guy 
Mannering,"  wherein  the  frolics  of  Councillor 
Pleydell  with  his  brother  lawyers  in  Edinburgh 
are  recorded),  show  that  even  the  usages  of 
middle-class  life  in  the  Edinburgh  of  sixty  years 
ago  compare  not  unfavourably  with  those  of  the 
sister  country  then  or  now.  "  There  is  a  deal  of 
human  natur'  about,"  we  are  told  by  that  astute 
philosopher,  Sam  Slick.  In  his  "  Experiences 
of  a  Barrister's  Life"  (1882),  Serjeant  Ballantine 
refers  to  his  pupilage  in  the  early  part  of  the 
present  century,  and  tells  us  that  in  London, 
"  vice  clothed  in  its  most  repulsive  garb  stalked 
publicly  through  the  streets ;  .  .  .  there  was  an 
atmosphere  of  coarseness  and  slang,  and  even  in 
private  society  toasts  were  given  and  conversa- 
tion tolerated  that  would  now  shock  the  least 
refined ;  .  .  .  and  songs  of  a  degrading  and 
filthy  character  were  sung.  .  .  .  Most  of  my 
readers  will  remember  a  scene  described  by 
Thackeray  in  his  novel  of  '  The  Newcomes,' 
referring  to  this  subject,  which  is  far  more 
graphic  and  powerful  than  any  I  can  attempt." 
If  we    seek    evidence   in   support    of   Serjeant 


A   Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  151 

Ballantine's  belief  in  a  better  state  of  present 
things,  what  do  we  find?  We  need  only  look 
at  the  current  periodical  press — whether  of  the 
masses  or  classes  is  immaterial.  I  take  up  a 
London  weekly  journal  called  Modern  Society^ 
which  professedly  holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature, 
and  has  for  its  motto,  "Society  sayings  and 
doings" — the  sayings  and  doings  of  one  week 
being  nearly  a  repetition  of  the  last,  and  that 
the  counterpart  of  the  next.     In  an  issue  of  July 

1894,  with  reference  to  "  Lady  B 's  dance," 

the  editor  of  Society  remarks  :  "  What  a  relief 
it  is  to  every  one  when  there  are  few  boys  \i.e., 
young  gentlemen].  .  .  .  One  of  the  most 
objectionable  habits  of  *  boydom  '  of  the  present 
day  is  the  habit  of  gathering  in  groups  at  the 
supper  table,  and  relating  stories  which  are  only 
fit  for  the  smoking  room,  quite  regardless  of  the 
presence  of  ladies."  Here  this  censor  of  a  com- 
munity that  has  a  Royal  Court  for  its  centre, 
suggests  that  habits  and  conversation  that  are 
everywhere  degrading  and  unfit  for  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  are  nevertheless  to  be  tolerated  if 
reserved  "  for  the  smoking  -  room."  Quis  cus- 
todiet  ipsos  custodes?  See  also  the  writings  of 
George    Moore   or   Zola,  characterised   by  the 


152  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Examiner  as  fit  objects  for  being  burned  by  the 
common  hangman.  Surely  there  is  no  need  for 
me  to  excuse  the  revelry  of  that  evening  when  I 
had  my  glimpse  of  Clarinda  !  In  fancy,  never- 
theless, I  hear  whisperings  of  "  Vulgar,"  "  In- 
decorous," and  similar  murmurs. 

But  in  modern  social  habits  there  is  a  poverty 
of  resources  in  promoting  hilarity,  and  much 
therefore  to  be  said  in  extenuation  of  that  spirit 
of  "  gamesomeness,"  or  kindly  sympathy,  that 
links  us  in  active  movements  on  a  broad  and 
general  basis  where  all  can  personally  join.  It 
is  this  impulse  of  "human  natur'"  that  sets  a 
crowd  of  students  singing  "  Pour  out  the  Rhine 
Wine,"  when  mugs  of  small  beer  sparkle  on  the 
board.  It  is  this  which  incites  immense  political 
assemblies  of  city  aldermen,  merchants,  and 
members  of  Parliament,  to  hail  with  harmonious 
welcome  the  patrician  features  of  a  Gladstone, 
the  far-from-jolly  countenance  of  a  Beaconsfield, 
or  perky  phiz  of  a  Chamberlain,  by  joining  in 
the  festive  hymn,  "  He's  a  jolly  good  fellow," 
Despite  the  anachronism  of  "  fellow,"  I  can  recall 
having  joined  lustily  in  thus  acclaiming  a  former 
hostess,  a  benevolent,  smiling  old  lady,  and  seal- 
ing pledges  of  hearty  goodwill,  with  "  three  times 


A   Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  153 

three  and  a  tiger."  I  discriminate  widely  between 
such  innocent  demonstrations  of  social  glee  and 
that  "  fascination  for  the  unclean,"  indicated  by 
Serjeant  Ballantine  and  the  editor  of  Modern 
Society.  Naturally  the  soul  repeats  to  itself  all 
that  is  beautiful,  or  all  that  seems  so.  A  writer, 
reader,  or  conversationalist  writes,  reads,  and 
speaks  of  what  he  likes — of  what  is  to  his  taste. 
And  there  is  undeniably  a  strain  in  the  taste  of 
some  men  and  women  which  enjoys  the  idea  of 
temptation  and  of  evil  pleasures,  even  while 
resolving  and  holding  on  by  his  or  her  own 
rectitude.  As  there  was  no  sign  of  evil  proclivity 
in  the  social  party  I  have  described,  I  do  not 
look  back  with  any  apologetic  feeling  for  myself 
or  my  company  in  recalling  the  cheap  and 
cheery  "  high  jinks  "  in  which  I  participated  some 
sixty  years  ago  with  Clarinda. 

I  have  never  been  able  to  blend  my  reminis- 
cence of  Clarinda  with  the  familiar  silhouette, 
in  which  she  is  pleasingly  depicted,  at  the  age  of 
about  thirty  years  (as  I  guess);  in  "full  voluptuous 
but  not  o'er-grown  bulk,"  decked  with  graceful, 
gauzy  head-dress.  I  saw  her  a  shrunken  old 
woman,  about  five  feet  one  inch  in  height,  her 
head  surmounted  with  a  toppling,  stiff,  bunchy 


154  Burns'  Clarinda. 

"  mob  "  cap,  reminding  me  of  old  Mother  Shipton 
and  of  the  refrain  of  a  lilt  I  often  heard  crooned 
over  by  an  old  nursemaid  to  the  tune  of  "  High- 
land Laddie" — 

"  O  what  shall  I  do  for  starch  and  blue 
For  my  high  Caul  Cap — for  my  high  Caul  Cap,"  &c. 

It  is  true  there  are  few  of  us  who  recognise 
ourselves  or  our  nearest  friends  in  portraits  taken 
at  five  or  ten  years  of  age,  when  contrasted 
with  one  some  forty  years  thereafter.  In  recent 
numbers  of  the  Strand  Magazine  I  saw  a  series 
of  portraits  of  individuals  portrayed  from  their 
infancy  up  till  the  present  day ;  and  among 
them  such  notables  as  Disraeli,  Bismarck,  Patti, 
Bernhardt,  &c.,  and  surely  contrasts  could  not 
be  more  dissimilar  or  less  cognoscible.  Of 
Clarinda's  lively  vivacity  and  graceful  manner 
I  have  a  very  clear  impression,  because  asso- 
ciated with  a  large  lace  shawl  that  floated  from 
her  shoulders  and  waved  gracefully  while  she  was 
gyrating  in  the  "  Ronald  Macdhu "  chorus,  in 
singing  which,  notwithstanding  the  chorus,  no 
one  got  "roarin'  fu'." 

Little  doubt  it  is  because  of  some  disillusion- 
ising personal  accompaniments — such  as  snuff- 
taking,  to  which  she  was  addicted — that  I  do 


A   Glimpse  of  Ctarinda.  1 55 

not  participate  in  the  extravagant  laudation 
bestowed  by  some  on  the  Sylvander  and 
Clarinda  correspondence ;  nor  do  I  share  the 
feeling  which  some  Burns  critics  evince  in  re- 
viewing that  relation,  or  their  indiscriminating 
apportionment  of  blame  because  of  his  conse- 
cutive association  with  Highland  Mary,  Jean 
Armour,  and  Clarinda.  He  could  not  marry 
Mary,  for  his  liaison  with  Jean  was  "  the  clash 
of  the  haill  country  side,"  and  as  such,  no 
doubt,  was  well  known  to  Mary.  But  he  could 
philander  and  flirt  as  "a  free  bachelor"  amid 
"  the  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around  the 
Castle  of  Montgomery,"  for  the  ethics  of  humble 
country  life  were  not  more  exacting  than  those 
of  the  so-called  better  classes.  It  is  unprofitable 
to  speculate  from  the  meagre,  verifiable  facts 
known  what  kind  of  wife  Highland  Mary  would 
have  proved,  for  we  know  scarce  anything  of 
her  but  what  Burns  tells  us,  although  we  love  to 
believe  his  conception.  We  cannot,  therefore, 
speculate  with  regrets,  inasmuch  as  "  fell  death's 
untimely  frost,  that  nipped  his  flow'r  sae  early," 
left  Burns  doubly  a  widower — by  death  from 
Mary,  while  her  own  resolve  had  widowed  him 
from  Jean. 


156  Burns'  Clarinda. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  Burns  was  sincere  in 
his  admiration  for  Clarinda,  which  even  he  could 
not  find  words  to  adequately  express  in  almost 
daily  efforts,  during  their  few  weeks  (about  ten) 
of  epistolary  correspondence,  and  the  few — 
not  numerous — personal  meetings.  Through- 
out their  short  association  he  lived  a  lifetime  of 
poetically  ardent  conceptions,  and  during  the 
last  eight  days  he  was,  he  tells  us,  "literally 
crazed."  For  when  Burns  fell  in  love,  as  he  so 
frequently  did,  "he  liked  to  put  his  strength  to  it," 
as  the  Irishman  said  when  excusing  himself  for 
sleeping  twenty-four  hours  at  a  stretch.  But  after 
eight  days'  absence  from  Clarinda's  immediate 
association,  he  did  not  at  any  time  seek  its  re- 
newal ;  not,  I  believe,  because  of  any  revulsion 
of  feeling,  but  because  of  the  sight  of  his  truly 
loved  Jean  Armour,  and  because  of  her  protesta- 
tions that  he  had  been  misinformed  regarding 
her  real  sentiments  towards  him.  The  renewed 
meetings,  and  Jean's  assurances,  evoked  the  real 
passion  which  had  perhaps  slumbered,  but  had 
ever  been  cherished,  for  the  woman  who,  till  his 
latest  hour,  continued  to  be  his  "  Jean."  I  doubt, 
indeed,  if  Burns,  until  this  critical  time,  ever 
fully    understood,    or    seriously    analysed,    the 


A  Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  157 

nature  of  his  regard  for  and  his  relations  to- 
wards Clarinda,  in  which  there  was  so  much 
more  of  the  intellectual  than  of  the  animal  that 
usually  predominated  in  him,  as  we  are  assured 
by  his  brother  Gilbert.  For  no  sooner  was  he 
outside  Edinburgh,  and  removed  from  Clarinda's 
immediate  presence — no  sooner  did  he  rejoin 
the  long  and  always  cherished  object  of  that 
real  passion — no  sooner  was  he  assured  by  his 
Jean  that,  despite  her  forced  renunciation,  she 
loved  him  as  heretofore — no  sooner  did  he  learn 
from  her  family  that  the  obstacles  previously 
interposed  were  swept  aside  in  view  of  his  im- 
proved fortunes  and  rising  social  position,  than 
he  hastened  to  renew  the  broken  link  by  a 
second  and  more  formal  marriage  under  Church 
sanction  ;  and  thus  he  broke  for  ever  from  the 
craze  of  "  infirm  resolves,"  which  for  some  time 
after  his  temporary  estrangement  from  Jean 
Armour  had  characterised  his  actions  in  relation 
to  her.  He  now  saw  clearly  that  the  happiness 
or  misery  of  a  much-loved  and  much-trusting 
woman  was  in  his  hands — that  immediate 
decision  was  imperative,  and  some  discredit 
unavoidable,  but  least  discredit  to  those  he  had 
unwisely  involved,  if  he  accepted  for  himself  the 


158  Bums'  Clarinda. 

larger  share ;  and  he  then  resolutely  selected 
that  path  which  duty  and  long-enduring  affec- 
tion alike  indicated.  And  Clarinda  was  there- 
after avoided  by  him,  but  she  continued  to  be 
tenderly  recollected,  respected,  and  admired. 
"  Had  Burns  deserted  her  (Jean  Armour),  he 
had  merely  been  a  heartless  villain,"  says  Pro- 
fessor Wilson.  "  In  making  her  his  lawful 
wedded  wife,  he  did  no  more  than  any  other 
man,  deserving  the  name  of  man,  in  the  same 
circumstances  would  have  done  ;  and  had  he  not, 
he  would  have  walked  in  shame  before  men,  and 
in  fear  and  trembling  before  God." 

He  reaped  the  reward  of  an  honest  resolve  in 
his  calm  domestic  hearth,  and  did  the  best  that 
the  circumstances  allowed  ;  and  the  best  for,  and 
by  Clarinda ;  who,  although  in  many  respects 
"  a  charming  woman,"  showed  in  her  brief  rela- 
tions with  Burns  that  "  charming  women  are  apt 
to  have  wills  of  their  own  " — a  will  with  which 
that  of  the  poet  would  assuredly  have  clashed, 
as  it  never  did  with  that  of  his  evenly-minded 
Jean.  It  should,  therefore,  be  matter  of  con- 
gratulation that  it  was  never  of  his  much-loved 
respected  wife,  Jean  Armour,  but  only  of  Clarinda, 
that  Burns  spoke  when  he  referred  to  her  as  "  a 


A   Glimpse  of  Clarinda.  159 

ci-devant  goddess  of  mine,"  and  to  whom  he 
wrote,  "  But,  by  heavens,  madam,  I  will  not  be 
bullied."  And  those  who  lament  the  Sylvander 
and  Clarinda  correspondence  may  take  com- 
fort, despite  the  poetic  "  heart-wrung  tears  and 
warring  sighs  and  groans,"  that  all  happened  for 
the  best ;  and  that  the  end  fitly  crowned  the 
whole. 

Some  weeks  after  the  meeting  I  have  endea- 
voured to  describe,  and  during  which  I  had  that 
glimpse  of  Clarinda  which  has  aided  my  judg- 
ment of  her  character,  I  met  casually  the  school- 
master, and  in  the  gossip  that  followed  I  learned 
much  that  made  the  evening  more  remarkable, 
and  riveted  on  my  memory  some  of  the  details. 
"Ay,"  he  said,  with  a  tenderly  regretful  smile 
as  we  parted,  "  it  was  indeed  a  sunny  blink  " — 

"  It  was  but  ae  night  o'  our  lives. 
And  wha  wad  grudge  though  it  were  twa?" 


The  Real  Clarinda. 

By  Peter  Ross,  LL.D.,  Author  of  "The  Scot  in 
America,"  &c.  &c. 


The  loves  of  Burns  are  among  the  most  in- 
teresting studies  in  the  career  of  that  most  gifted 
of  men.  His  love  passages  were  so  many,  and 
had  such  an  influence  in  shaping  the  events  and 
fortunes  of  his  Hfe,  that  we  must  study  them, 
patiently  and  thoroughly,  to  understand  his 
character  and  much  of  the  apparent  weakness 
and  carelessness  which  came  over  him  at  times  ; 
and  to  discover  how  a  being  so  wondrously 
endowed  could  exhibit  so  many  peculiar  incon- 
sistencies in  his  mental  make  up.  It  is  not 
going  beyond  the  authentic  facts  which  we  have 
concerning  that  life  of  thirty-seven  years,  to  say 
that  it  was  mainly  directed,  controlled,  and  in- 
fluenced, and  to  a  very  great  extent  inspired,  by 
its  love  for  the  society  of  the  sex  opposite  to  its 
own.  The  peculiar  thing  about  the  love  passages 
of  Burns  is  that  they  all  continued  to  preserve  for 
him  a  niche  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  won  his 


The  Real  Clarinda.  i6i 

affections  long  after  each  reign  was  over,no  matter 
what  changes  afterward  took  place  in  their  lives, 
their  conditions,  their  circumstances.  Burns  was 
his  mother's  favourite  as  a  boy,  and  until  the 
close  of  her  long  life  he  had  the  dearest  place  in 
her  heart.  Jean  Armour,  in  her  years  of  widow- 
hood, seemed  only,  as  time  sped  on,  to  live  in 
the  hope  of  being  again  united  to  him  for  whom 
she  had  once  sacrificed  all,  and  who  had  raised 
her,  a  peasant  girl,  to  a  place  among  the  most 
noted  women  of  the  world  ;  and  Clarinda,  with 
the  weight  of  eighty  years  of  life — a  life  which 
early  was  clouded  with  sorrow — remembered 
keenly,  yet  affectionately,  the  incidents  of  her 
love  passage  with  the  poet  till  the  last. 

The  biographers  and  critics  of  Burns  treat  the 
Clarinda  love  episode  in  a  rather  peculiar  fashion. 
Some  of  them  barely  mention  it ;  others  do  not 
seem  able  to  understand  it  exactly.  Robert 
Chambers,  the  best  of  them  all,  seemingly  has 
suspicions  that  it  was  very  wrong,  very  indis- 
creet altogether ;  and  gravely  moralises  con- 
cerning it  at  intervals, — a  course  which  was  not 
very  usual  with  him.  He  does  not  exactly 
assert  that  the  love  passage  had  any  illicit 
details ;  he  presents  the  case  as  fully  as  pos- 
L 


1 62  Bum^  Clarinda. 

sible,  and  renders  a  verdict  of  not  proven.  Scott 
Douglas,  by  implication  rather  than  assertion, 
would  have  us  believe  that  the  love  was  not 
altogether  innocent.  Hately  Waddell  roundly 
denounces  "  Clarinda,"  and  says  in  effect  that 
"  she  was  no  better  than  she  should  be."  Blackie 
thinks  the  interlude  perfectly  innocent.  Prin- 
cipal Shairp  does  not  discuss  the  nature  of  the 
intimacy,  but  condemns  the  artificial  style  of 
Burns's  letters,  and  is  disposed  to  frown  upon  the 
woman.  Lockhart  calls  the  passage  "a  little 
romance."  The  others  are  more  or  less  non- 
committal, or  unjust,  or  supercilious.  The  in- 
cident has  been  treated  in  a  really  critical 
fashion  only  by  Chambers,  and,  as  we  have  said, 
he  did  not  express  an  opinion  with  any  definite- 
ness  either  way.  But  he  really  sums  up  all  that 
can  be  said  truthfully  on  the  subject  from  the 
point  of  one  who  believes  in  the  existence  of 
something  more  than  mere  words.  The  other 
side  is  stated,  by  one  who  evidently  never  con- 
ceived that  there  was  anything  in  the  friend- 
ship that  was  not  in  every  way  commendable,  in 
the  little  book  on  Clarinda  issued  in  1843  by  her 
grandson. 

It  is  a  significant  fact,  we  think,  that  none  of 


The  Real  Clarinda.  163 

Clarinda's  friends  believed  that  her  relations 
with  Burns  were  anything  but  what  might  be 
perfectly  proper  between  a  married  woman  on 
the  one  hand  and  a  warm  personal  friend  on  the 
other.  Edinburgh,  at  the  time  the  episode  took 
place,  was  little  better  than  a  big  village,  where 
the  people  revelled  in  gossip,  where  scandal  was 
always  a  timely  topic,  and  each  morsel  acquired 
new  importance  as  it  came  from  the  lips  of  a 
new  whisperer.  If  the  relations  between  Burns 
and  Clarinda  had  been  such  as  to  afford  any 
room  for  doubt,  or  for  ill-natured  suspicion,  some- 
thing of  it  would  undoubtedly  have  reached  the 
ears  of  Clarinda's  kinsman  and  benefactor.  Lord 
Craig,  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Court  of  Session. 
But  until  his  death,  in  181 3,  that  upright  and 
amiable  man  continued  to  the  lady  his  kindly 
protection,  and  never  entertained  any  doubt  as 
to  the  rectitude  of  her  moral  character,  even 
although  the  extraordinary  letters  which  passed 
between  her  and  the  poet  had  been  printed  and 
published  several  years  before.  Her  personal 
friends  seemed  to  have  entertained  no  thought 
of  there  being  anything  unworthy  in  her 
friendship  with  the  poet,  and  those  who  were 
acquainted  with  her  at  a  later  period  of  her  life 


164  Burns'  Clarinda. 

held  her  in  too  high  esteem,  and  judged  her 
character  too  noble  and  kindly,  to  permit  them 
to  imagine  for  a  moment  that  she  had  ever 
exceeded  the  bounds  of  discretion  even  in  her 
admiration  for  her  country's  bard. 

That  Clarinda  truly  loved  Burns  there  seems 
no  reason  to  doubt.  Her  own  words,  as  we 
read  them,  impress  that  fact  even  on  a  casual 
reader.  If  we  study  her  letters  closely  we  can 
follow  the  progress  of  her  sentiments  through 
simple  friendship,  induced  primarily  for  the  poet 
who  had  won  such  extraordinary  fame  by  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  interpreted  the  hearts  of 
his  countrymen,  until  we  find  friendship  develop 
into  love,  and  then  that  love  become  so  intense 
that  it  throws  off  all  reserve  and  delights  in 
acknowledgment.  That  Clarinda  would  have 
united  her  fortunes  with  those  of  the  poet  had 
the  divorce  machinery  in  the  Scotch  Courts  been 
as  easily  worked  then  as  now,  seems  reasonable 
to  assume.  But  divorce  was  little  thought  of 
in  Scotland  in  her  day,  and  she  could  only  bid 
him  wait  and  hope,  two  qualities  which  seem  to 
have  been  lacking  in  the  poet's  mental  equip- 
ment. That  she  grieved  when  Burns  by  his 
open  marriage  with  Jean  Armour  increased  the 


The  Real  Clarinda.  165 

barriers  between  them  is  certain  ;  that  she  then 
abandoned  all  hope  of  being  to  him  any  more 
than  a  casual  friend  is  equally  certain.  But  it 
is  true,  too,  that  she  never  gave  up  her  love, 
that  time  only  deepened  the  impression  he  had 
made  on  her  heart,  and  that  the  6th  of  each 
December  was  always  a  sad  anniversary  for  her, 
as  on  that  date,  to  quote  her  own  words,  written 
many,  many  years  after,  she  "  parted  with  Burns 
in  the  year  1791,  never  more  to  meet  in  this 
world,"  and  she  added  to  the  record  the  touching 
words,  "  Oh,  may  we  meet  in  heaven." 

It  is  probable  that  in  his  whole  career  Burns 
met  no  woman  who,  to  adapt  the  Duchess  of 
Gordon's  expression,  carried  him  "off  his  feet" 
more  completely  than  did  Clarinda.  This  we 
say  with  full  knowledge  of  the  true  wifely 
qualities  of  "  Bonnie  Jean,"  the  mysterious 
passion  for  Highland  Mary,  and  the  undis- 
guised admiration  which  the  poet  so  freely 
expressed  for  others  of  the  "  darling  sex  "  in  all 
ranks  of  life.  Chambers  rightly  gives  the  reason 
for  this  when  he  says  :  "  Mrs  M'Lehose  was 
exactly  the  kind  of  woman  to  fascinate  Burns. 
She  might  indeed  be  described  as  the  town-bred 
or  lady  analogue  of  the  country  maidens  who 


1 66  Burns^  Clarinda. 

had  exercised  the  greatest  power  over  him  in 
his  earlier  days."  She  had  been  unfortunate  in 
her  marriage,  and  moved  in  her  own  circle  with 
the  freedom  which  marriage,  no  matter  how  un- 
fortunate, bestowed  upon  women.  Her  husband 
had  deserted  her ;  his  conduct  was  little  short 
of  brutal ;  and  she  evidently  had  done  nothing 
to  merit  her  misfortunes  or  to  be  placed  in  the 
dubious  position  of  a  wife  who  had  been  aban- 
doned by  him  to  whom  she  had  once  given  her 
heart,  and  who  had  sworn  to  protect  her.  Every 
one  pitied  her,  no  one  had  a  word  to  say  in 
defence  of  her  husband,  and  as  we  read  the 
entire  history  of  the  ill-assorted  couple,  now 
that  the  record  is  complete,  we  can  regard  him 
as  nothing  else  than  a  base  wretch,  who  passed 
through  life,  for  some  inscrutable  reason,  with- 
out receiving  the  punishment  which  his  cruel 
and  heartless  conduct  to  his  wife  and  children 
would  have  justified.  Clarinda,  in  spite  of  the 
blandishments  of  the  poet,  and  in  spite,  too,  of 
her  own  evident  infatuation,  remained  true  to  the 
vows  she  took  upon  herself  when  she  became 
the  wife  of  James  M'Lehose  until  the  end  of  her 
career.  James  M'Lehose,  on  the  other  hand, 
violated    them    all.     He    was    regarded    as    a 


The  Real  Clarinda.  167 

"  respectable  "  man  until  the  close  of  his  ignoble 
life,  in  18 12.  She  was  regarded  soon  after  the 
publication  of  her  correspondence  with  Burns 
with  suspicion,  and  even  till  the  present  day  the 
literary  ghouls,  who  have  tried  to  blacken  the 
memory  of  "  Scotia's  darling  poet,"  still  affect  to 
sneer  at  the  conduct  of  a  woman  who  in  reality 
lived  an  honourable  life,  who  devoted  herself  to 
her  children,  and  whose  almost  last  words  were, 
"  I  go  to  Jesus."  Surely,  too,  the  ingenuity  of 
evil  conjecture  might  have  spared  the  heroine 
who  inspired  that  sweetest  of  songs,  "  My 
Nannie's  Awa'." 

Burns  was  not  attracted  to  Clarinda  solely  by 
her  misfortunes.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman, 
accomplished  beyond  most  women  in  her  station 
of  life,  sprightly  in  her  manners,  agreeable  in 
her  conversation,  and  possessing  considerable 
poetic  ability  as  well  as  excellent  literary  taste. 
If  we  were  to  judge  of  her  relations  with  Burns 
by  the  code  of  morals  which  is  presumed  to 
prevail  in  our  day,  were  her  letters  and  his  to  be 
presented  as  proofs  of  wrongdoing  under  present 
conditions,  they  might,  we  freely  admit,  give 
rise  to  conjecture.  But  we  must  remember  they 
were  written  in  a  time  when  people  were  more 


1 68  Burns'  Clarinda. 

outspoken  than  now,  when  manners  were  not 
so  strait-laced,  when  people  talked  more 
freely  concerning  many  matters  than  they  now 
dare  to  think  of  them.  We  should  also  re- 
member that  Mrs  M'Lehose,  as  a  married 
woman,  had  no  need  of  comporting  herself  with 
the  reserve  that  would  be  natural  in  a  spinster, 
that  her  disposition  was  inclined  to  be  gay 
and  happy,  and  her  desire  was  to  forget  the  sad 
position  in  which  she  was  placed  by  her  hus- 
band's selfish  conduct.  But,  even  before  the 
Burns  interlude  in  her  career  had  reached  much 
headway,  she  complained  in  a  letter  to  the  poet 
that  the  world  regarded  her  natural  inclination 
for  gaiety  with  grave  doubt.  "  In  reading  the 
account,"  she  wrote,  "  you  gave  of  your  invete- 
rate turn  for  social  pleasures,  I  smiled  at  its 
resemblance  to  my  own.  It  is  so  great  that  I 
often  think  I  had  been  a  man  but  for  some 
mistake  of  nature.  If  you  saw  me  in  a  merry 
party  you  would  suppose  me  only  an  enthusiast 
in  fun ;  but  I  now  avoid  parties.  My  spirits 
are  sunk  for  days  after ;  and  what  is  worse, 
there  are  sometimes  dull  or  malicious  souls  who 
censure  me  loudly  for  what  their  sluggish  nature 
cannot  comprehend." 


The  Real  Clarinda.  169 

While,  doubtless,  Clarinda's  beauty  and 
sprightHness  had  much  to  do  with  attracting 
the  fancy  of  Burns,  it  was  her  accomplish- 
ments, her  sentiments,  that  really  threw  him  at 
her  feet.  Except  in  religion,  her  views  generally 
were  more  like  those  entertained  by  the  poet 
than,  so  far  as  we  know,  were  held  by  any  other 
woman  of  his  acquaintance,  no  matter  in  what 
rank.  She  was  at  least  equal  to  the  poet  in  her 
ability  to  converse  on  philosophical,  social,  or 
abstruse  questions,  and  her  conversation  seems 
seldom  to  have  been  commonplace.  She  could 
be  frivolous,  but  never  insipid ;  she  could  ap- 
preciate his  varying  moods;  she  knew  enough 
of  human  nature  to  overlook  his  moral  trans- 
gressions ;  she  had  the  same  profound  contempt 
for  cant  that  he  had,  the  same  lack  of  apprecia- 
tion of  rank  for  the  sake  of  rank  alone,  the  same 
ideas  of  human  equality.  There  was  nothing 
squeamish  in  her  disposition.  She  met  the  poet 
on  an  equal  footing,  but  never  forgot,  even  when 
he  held  full  possession  of  her  heart,  that  there 
was  a  barrier  between  them  which  time  alone 
had  any  chance  of  removing. 

Such  sentiments  as  those  indicated  in  the 
following  lines  must  have  went  directly  to  the 


I/^o  Bums'  Clarinda. 

heart  of  the  poet  as  he  read  them  in  one  of  her 
impassioned  letters :  "  A  recontre  to-day  I  will 
relate  to  you,  because  it  will  show  you  I  have 
my  own  share  of  pride.  I  met  with  a  sister  of 
Lord  Napier  at  the  house  of  a  friend  with  whom 
I  sat  between  sermons.  I  knew  who  she  was, 
but  paid  her  no  other  marks  of  respect  than  I 
do  to  any  gentlewoman.  She  eyed  me  with 
minute  supercilious  attention,  never  looking  at 
me  when  I  spoke,  but  even  half  interrupted  me 
before  I  had  done  addressing  the  lady  of  the 
house.  I  felt  my  face  glow  with  resentment, 
and  consoled  myself  with  the  idea  of  being  her 
superior  in  every  respect  but  the  accidental, 
trifling  one  of  birth !  I  was  disgusted  at  the 
fawning  deference  the  lady  showed  her ;  and 
when  she  told  me  at  the  door  that  it  was  my 
Lord  Napier's  sister,  I  replied,  '  Is  zV,  indeed ! 
by  her  ill-breeding  I  should  have  taken  her  for 
the  daughter  of  some  upstart  tradesman.' "  The 
following  is  another  picture  which,  we  may  feel 
sure,  impressed  itself  vividly  on  the  imagination, 
as  it  undoubtedly  must  have  fired  the  heart  of 
the  poet :  "  I'll  tell  you  a  pretty  apt  quotation 
I  made  to-day,  warm  from  my  heart.  I  met  the 
Judges  [Lords  of  Session]  in  the  morning  as  I 


The  Real  Clarinda.  171 

went  into  the  Parliament  Square,  among  whom 

was  Lord  Dreghorn  in  his  new  robes  of  purple. 

He  was  my  mother's  cousin-german,  the  greatest 

honour  he  ever  could  claim  ;  but  used  me  in  a 

manner  harsh  beyond  description  at  one  of  the 

darkest  periods  of  my  chequered  life.     I  looked 

steadfastly  at  his  sour  face ;  his  eye  met  mine. 

I  was  a  female,  and  therefore  he  stared;   but 

when  he  knew  who  it  was  he  averted  his  eyes 

suddenly.      Instantaneously  these   lines  darted 

into  my  mind  : — 

*  Would  you  the  purple  should  your  limbs  adorn. 
Go,  wash  the  conscious  blemish  with  a  tear.' " 

Judging  Clarinda  by  all  the  facts  known  of 
her  career,  she  had  three  leading  traits  in  her 
character  —  love,  duty,  religion.  That  she 
surrendered  her  early  heart  to  him  whose 
name  she  bore  through  her  matronhood  and 
old  age  seems  clear  enough.  That  when  he 
forsook  her,  and  she  had  abandoned  all  idea  of 
ever  again  being  to  him  anything  but  a  memory, 
she  yearned  for  some  one  to  cling  to,  to  love, 
is  evident  to  any  person  who  reads  her  letters. 
In  one  of  them  she  freely  says  :  "  For  many 
years  have  I  sought  for  a  male  friend  endowed 
with  sentiments  like  yours  ;  one  who  could  love 


172  Burns*  Clarincia. 

me  with  tenderness,  yet  unmixed  with  selfish- 
ness ;  who  could  be  my  friend,  companion, 
protector,  and  who  would  die  sooner  than 
injure  me."  That  she  gave  forth  all  the  love 
in  her  nature  to  the  poet  is  also  evident ;  every 
one  of  her  letters  is  sufficient  testimony  to  that, 
and  also  to  the  fact  that  her  love  developed  and 
strengthened  as  the  days  passed  on,  and  the  two 
became  more  thoroughly  acquainted  with  each 
other's  brilliant  qualities.  But  duty  forbade  her 
doing  aught  that  might  injure  her  fair  reputation 
or  cause  her  children,  as  they  grew  up,  a  tinge 
of  shame.  Her  letters  are  invariably  clear  and 
emphatic  on  this  point.  In  an  early  epistle  she 
warns  the  poet :  "  I  am  your  friend,  Sylvander  ; 
take  care  lest  virtue  demand  even  friendship  as 
a  sacrifice."  Toward  the  close  of  the  episode 
she  wrote :  "  I  believe  our  friendship  will  be 
lasting ;  its  basis  has  been  similarity  of  tastes, 
feelings,  and  sentiments  ; "  and  once  she  uttered 
the  key-note  of  her  own  position  in  these  words : 
"  I  laugh  to  myself  at  the  recollection  of  your 
earnest  asseverations  as  to  being  anti-platonic. 
Want  of  passions  is  not  merit.  Strong  ones 
under  the  control  of  reason  and  religion — let 
these  be  our  glory." 


The  Real  Clarinda.  173 

Her  strong  sense  of  duty,  mingled  with  love, 
entered  into  all  the  other  details  of  her  life. 
To  her  children  she  was  devoted,  and  her  de- 
votion was  inspired  not  merely  by  maternal 
instinct,  but  also  by  an  elevated  view  of  her 
moral  obligations  and  accountability.  This  is 
sufficiently  shown  by  the  following  words :  "  I 
have  slept  little  these  two  nights.  My  child 
was  uneasy,  and  that  kept  me  awake  watching 
him.  Sylvander,  if  I  have  merit  in  anything, 
'tis  in  an  unremitting  attention  to  my  two 
children  ;  but  it  cannot  be  denominated  merit, 
since  'tis  as  much  inclination  as  duty.  A 
prudent  woman  (as  the  world  goes)  told  me 
she  was  surprised  I  loved  them,  '  considering 
what  a  father  they  had.'  I  replied  with  acri- 
mony, I  could  not  but  love  my  children  in  any 
case ;  but  my  having  given  them  the  misfoftune 
of  such  a  father  endears  them  doubly  to  my  heart. 
They  are  innocent ;  they  depend  on  me,  and  I 
feel  this  the  most  tender  of  all  claims.  While 
I  live,  my  fondest  attention  shall  be  theirs."  On 
a  later  occasion,  when  she  accepted  her  rascally 
husband's  overtures,  and  accepted  his  proposal 
to  join  him  in  Jamaica  (a  proposal  which  he 
never   dreamed   would   be   accepted),  it  was  a 


174  Burns^  Clarinda. 

sense  of  what  was  right  that  influenced  her 
decision,  not  inclination  or  returning  love.  To 
her  kinsman,  Lord  Craig,  she  wrote  on  this 
subject :  "  I  have  done  what  you  desired  me 
— weighed  coolly  (as  coolly  as  a  subject  so 
interesting  would  permit)  all  I  have  to  suffer 
or  expect  in  either  situation,  and  the  result  is 
my  going  to  Jamaica.  This  appears  to  me  the 
preferable  choice ;  it  is  surely  the  path  of  duty, 
and  as  such  I  may  look  for  the  blessing  of  God 
to  attend  my  endeavours  for  happiness  with  him 
who  was  the  husband  of  my  choice  and  the 
father  of  my  children." 

But  religion  was  the  foundation  of  this 
woman's  entire  conduct,  of  her  walk  and  con- 
versation through  life.  She  derived  her  fixed 
religious  principles  from  the  teachings  of  her 
mother — a  clergyman's  daughter — and  in  all  the 
tribulations,  humiliations,  sorrows,  and  cares  of 
her  many  years,  she  ever  found  in  the  applica- 
tion of  these  principles  her  firmest  stay,  her 
surest  hope.  Burns'  want  of  fixed  religious 
belief  she  deplored  as  the  greatest  of  all  imper- 
fections, the  one  that  could  not  be  overlooked  ; 
and  she  lost  no  opportunity  of  making  the  poet 
think  on  "  the  theme  of  all  themes,"  as  some 


The  Real  Clarinda.  175 

one  has  expressed  it.  His  apparent  disregard  of 
or  unconcern  about  spiritual  matters  she  appa- 
rently could  not  forget  or  forgive,  although  she 
thought  little,  as  did  most  women  of  her  time, 
of  his  social  excesses  and  his  unconcealed  lapses 
into  immorality.  Some  of  her  letters,  indeed,  are 
mainly  devoted  to  the  discussion  of  this  subject. 
"  Ah,  my  friend,"  she  once  wrote,  "  religion  con- 
verts our  heaviest  misfortunes  into  blessings." 
Again  she  defines  the  fixity  of  her  own  belief 
and  the  want  of  any  fixity  in  the  religious 
sentiments  of  Burns  in  the  following  clear-cut 
words :  "  In  most  points  we  seem  to  agree ; 
only  I  found  all  my  hopes  of  pardon  and  accept- 
ance with  Heaven  upon  the  merits  of  Christ's 
atonement — whereas  you  do  upon  a  good  life. 
You  think  *  it  helps  weel,  at  least'  If  anything 
we  could  do  had  been  able  to  atone  for  the 
violation  of  God's  Law,  where  was  the  need  (I 
speak  it  with  reverence)  of  such  an  astonishing 
Sacrifice?  .  .  .  Ah,  my  friend,  'tis  pride  that 
hinders  us  from  embracing  Jesus !  We  would 
be  our  own  saviour,  and  scorn  to  be  indebted 
even  to  the  '  Son  of  the  Most  High.'  But  this  is 
the  only  sure  foundation  of  our  hopes."  Surely 
no  one  can  say  these  words  (and  there  are  very 


176  Burns*  Clarinda. 

many  like  them  scattered  through  her  letters) 
could  be  expressed  by  a  "  flirting  grass  widow," 
a  woman  who  did  not  possess  in  her  heart  that 
consciousness  of  rectitude  of  conduct  and  life 
which  is  the  best  human  safeguard  of  virtue  and 
honour. 

No  one  knew  better  than  Clarinda  did  the 
weaknesses  of  her  own  character,  and  she  was 
constantly  on  her  guard  lest  these  weaknesses 
might,  in  an  unguarded  moment,  lead  her  from 
the  ideal  of  womanly  honesty  which  she  had  set 
up  for  herself  She  was  not  unmindful  of  the 
danger  of  incurring  censorious  remarks,  nor  was 
she  above  the  feminine  dread  of  causing  sus- 
picion by  misjudged  incidents  in  her  daily  life ; 
but,  fully  conscious  of  her  own  perfect  innocence 
in  thought,  word,  or  deed,  she  did  not  always 
shrink  from  occasion  for  giving  rise  to  remark 
as  perhaps  she  ought  to  have  done,  and  therein 
lies  all  that  is  to  be  condemned  by  any  unpre- 
judiced mind,  if  any  unprejudiced  mind  could 
condemn  at  all,  in  her  relations  with  Robert 
Burns.  Her  love  for  him  was  real,  but  it  was 
purely  platonic,  although  she  would  during  the 
time  the  incident  lasted  have  hailed  with  plea- 
sure any  lawful  means  by  which  Burns  might 


The  Real  Clarinda.  iyy 

have  changed  the  status  of  a  friend  for  the 
dearer  one  of  a  husband.  "  If  a  confession  of 
my  warmest,  tenderest  friendship  does  not 
satisfy  you,  duty  forbids  Clarinda  should  do 
more,"  were  the  words  she  had  written  when  the 
flame  of  love  between  them  was  at  its  brightest 
stage.  So  she  had  written  at  the  beginning  of 
the  correspondence,  and  her  sentiments  con- 
tinued the  same  until  the  end.  She  conceived 
the  idea  that  Burns  and  she  were  made  for  one 
another ;  and  as  her  hopes  could  not  be  accom- 
plished on  earth  she  cherished  the  wish,  long 
after  he  had  been  laid  at  rest  in  auld  St 
Michael's  Churchyard,  that  she  would  meet 
with  him  once  more  in  another  and  a  brighter 
world,  a  world  where  sorrow  and  separation 
are  unknown. 

That  Clarinda  was  a  woman  of  superior  in- 
tellect her  correspondence  sufficiently  shows. 
Her  letters,  indeed,  are  brighter,  more  logical, 
and  far  more  interesting  than  are  those  she 
received  in  exchange  from  the  poet.  They 
are  natural,  unpremeditated,  and  evidently  the 
simple  expressions  of  her  heart's  thoughts. 
Those  of  Burns,  on  the  other  hand,  are  so  pain- 
fully artificial,  so  commonplace  at  one  time,  so 
M 


17^  Bums'  Clarinda. 

bombastic  at  another,  and  at  all  times  so  stilted 
in  their  style,  so  burdened  with  the  effort  to 
produce  effect,  that  it  is  with  difficulty  we  can 
keep  the  poet  in  our  mind  as  we  labour  through 
them.  It  would  seem  as  though  he  knew  he 
was  addressing  a  woman  of  superior  intellect, 
and  dropped  his  own  natural  self  in  an  effort  to 
present  to  her  something  particularly  striking, 
something  worthy  of  her  exalted  taste  and 
sentiments — and  failed.  In  his  letters  we  find 
plenty  of  Sylvander,  but  very  little  of  Robert 
Burns. 

That  the  poet  loved  Clarinda  we  do  not 
doubt.  That,  had  she  permitted,  he  would  have 
exceeded  the  bounds  of  friendship  and  pro- 
priety is  only  too  evident.  That  he  tired  of 
waiting  is  also  true,  and  that  his  love  changed 
to  feelings  simply  of  friendship  may  also  be 
allowed  as  fully  demonstrated.  When  he  left 
Edinburgh  the  spell  of  Jean  Armour  was  again 
cast  round  him,  and  in  his  marriage  to  her  he 
did  what  has  redounded  more  to  his  credit  as 
a  man  than  anything  else  in  his  brilliant  life. 
That  he  also  loved  Jean  Armour  is  beyond 
question,  but  he  was  fitful  and  capricious,  and 
wavered  in  his  devotion.     At  these  times  other 


The  Real  Clarinda.  179 

women  charmed  his  heart.  Some  of  them  had 
cause  to  "  rue  the  day  "  they  attracted  the  pass- 
ing attention  of  the  gay,  dark-eyed,  lady-kiUing 
young  farmer-poet,  or  filled  a  temporary  void  in 
his  roving  and  wayward  heart.  Such  certainly, 
from  the  evidence  alone  afforded  by  the  letters, 
would  have  been  the  fate  of  Clarinda  had  she 
not  been  fortified  and  strengthened  by  the  fixed 
religious  sentiments  which  sustained  her  in  so 
many  trials,  and  by  her  elevated  views  of  life 
and  duty. 

A  true  wife,  a  warm-hearted  friend,  a  good 
mother,  a  sincere,  humble  Christian,  a  philan- 
thropic spirit,  a  creature  of  generous  impulses, 
Clarinda  passed  through  her  allotted  years  with 
hosts  of  friends  who  loved,  honoured,  and  in  the 
end  revered  her.  Her  life  was  wrecked  almost 
when  she  entered  upon  its  pleasures  ;  she  had  to 
dree  a  terrible,  a  weary  weird  ;  but  she  never 
faltered  or  lost  heart,  even  when  the  darkness 
gathered  around  her  the  deepest  and  the  sea 
of  fate  moaned  the  most  hopelessly.  Who  can 
blame  her  for  valuing  the  friendship  of  that  most 
lion-hearted  yet  most  tender-hearted  of  poets,  or 
censure  her  for,  under  the  circumstances,  freely 
acknowledging  that  her  heart  was  his  ? 


i8o  Burns*  Clarinda. 

And  that  was  all.  Everything  seems  to 
prove  it,  and  the  only  detraction  to  her  fair 
character  comes  from  the  surmises,  the  "  ifs," 
the  doubts,  the  contemptible  insinuations  and 
suspicions  of  a  few  literary  vampires,  who  try 
to  win  notoriety  or  attention  by  their  wanton 
liberties  with  the  reputations  of  the  dead. 


A    Tribute. 

By  Prof.  JOHN  Stuart  Blackie. 


At  the  house  of  an  Edinburgh  lady,  Miss 
Nimmo,  Burns  had  been  introduced  to  a  lady 
named  M'Lehose,  who  being  a  spinner  of  verses 
herself,  and  of  warm  human  sympathies,  had 
naturally  formed  a  desire  to  make  a  more 
intimate  acquaintance  with  the  acknowledged 
greatest  master  of  the  Scottish  lyre.  The  meet- 
ing produced  its  natural  result — a  mutual  recog- 
nition of  social  and  intellectual  kinship  on  both 
sides.  The  lady  being  of  a  frank  and  open 
character,  and  anxious  to  know  something  per- 
sonally of  such  an  extraordinary  genius  whom 
in  his  works  she  passionately  admired,  invited 
the  poet  to  visit  her  at  her  lodgings  a  few  days 
after  the  meeting.  Burns  agreed,  and  was  to 
have  taken  tea  with  her  in  her  lodgings  on  the 
evening  of  Saturday,  8th  December ;  but  the 
night  before  he  was  tumbled  out  of  a  cab  by  a 


1 82  Burns'  Clarinda. 

drunken  coachman,  and  got  home  painfully  and 
with  a  severe  bruise  on  his  leg.  The  tea,  of 
course,  was  suspended  ;  but  a  lively  correspond- 
ence was  immediately  set  agoing,  in  which,  from 
the  high-flown  and  rapturous  style  of  the  poet, 
the  lady  had  instant  occasion  to  remind  him 
that  she  was  a  married  woman  with  a  living 
husband,  and  he  must  address  her  only  as  a 
friend — the  fact  being  that  she  had  the  mis- 
fortune, at  the  early  age  of  eighteen,  to  have 
been  united  to  a  worthless  husband,  a  Glasgow 
merchant,  she  residing  in  Edinburgh  while  he 
was  holding  his  establishment  in  Jamaica. 

But  Burns  was  not  a  man  to  understand  how 
friendship  with  a  woman  whom  he  greatly 
admired  could  be  cultivated  without  passing 
into  love ;  and  so  the  lady  forthwith  found  her- 
self in  the  delicate  position  of  being  passionately 
admired  by  a  man  whose  admiration  she  cor- 
dially returned,  and  that  a  man  whose  headlong 
impetuosity  of  temper  was  continually  leading 
him  to  overstep  those  bounds  which,  in  the 
intercourse  of  the  sexes,  are  the  shield  of  honour 
and  the  safeguard  of  innocence.  Feeling  her- 
self in  this  situation,  it  might  have  seemed  wise 
in   a   lady  of  religious   principle   and   virtuous 


A    Tribute.  183 

habits — which  Agnes  M'Lehose  essentially  was 
— to  have  shut  the  door  after  the  first  interview 
with  so  perilous  an  acquaintance  ;  but  her  frank, 
unconventional  nature  combined  with  her  pro- 
found respect  for  the  poet  to  prevent  this. 
Besides,  she  felt  herself  firmly  fenced  with  the 
mail  of  a  severe  creed,  and  if  she  were  able  to 
maintain  her  own  position,  as  she  did  nobly, 
she  might  also  hope  to  use  her  moral  influence 
effectively  in  restraining  the  passions  and  guid- 
ing the  counsels  of  her  admirer.  The  corre- 
spondence of  these  two  remarkable  persons, 
continued  with  little  interruption  for  more  than 
three  months,  is  in  the  highest  degree  interest- 
ing, exhibiting  perhaps  even  more  strikingly,  if 
not  more  classically,  than  his  love  songs  the 
leading  features  in  the  character  of  this  wonder- 
ful genius.  Love  and  religion  certainly  never 
were  so  strangely  tossed  together  as  in  those 
impassioned  epistles.  In  the  following  letter, 
dated  21st  December,  after  alluding  to  the 
strong  terms  in  which  the  poet  had  expressed 
his  admiration  of  her  poetical  talents,  she  goes 
on  to  say :  "  Take  care,  many  a  *  glorious ' 
woman  has  been  undone  by  having  her  head 
turned.     '  Know  you  ! '     I  know  you  far  better 


184  Burns'  Clarinda. 

than  you  do  me.  Like  yourself,  I  am  a  bit  of 
an  enthusiast.  In  religion  and  friendship  quite 
a  bigot  —  perhaps  I  could  be  so  in  love  too, 
but  everything  dear  to  me  in  heaven  and  earth 
forbids !  This  is  my  fixed  principle,  and  the 
person  who  would  dare  to  endeavour  to  remove 
it  I  would  hold  as  my  chief  enemy.  Like  you,  I 
am  incapable  of  dissimulation  ;  nor  am  I,  as  you 
suppose,  unhappy.  I  have  been  unfortunate ; 
but  guilt  alone  could  make  me  unhappy.  Pos- 
sessed of  fine  children — competence — fame — 
friends,  kind  and  attentive — what  a  monster  of 
ingratitude  should  I  be  in  the  eye  of  Heaven 
were  I  to  style  myself  unhappy !  True,  I  have 
met  with  scenes  horrible  to  recollection — even 
at  six  years'  distance  ;  but  adversity,  my  friend, 
is  allowed  to  be  the  school  of  virtue.  It  oft  con- 
fers that  chastened  softness  which  is  unknown 
among  the  favourites  of  fortune !  Even  a  mind 
possessed  of  natural  sensibility,  without  this, 
never  feels  that  exquisite  pleasure  which  nature 
has  annexed  to  our  sympathetic  sorrows.  Reli- 
gion, the  only  refuge  of  the  unfortunate,  has 
been  my  balm  in  every  woe.  Oh  !  could  I  make 
her  appear  to  you  as  she  has  done  to  me! 
Instead  of  ridiculing  her  tenets,  you  would  fall 


A   Tribute.  185 

down  and  worship  her  very  semblance  wherever 
you  found  it." 

Here,  and  in  some  other  communications,  she 
reveals  herself  as  the  most  gracious  and  oppor- 
tune of  preachers.  Calvinism  from  such  sweet 
lips  would  sound  quite  differently  than  when 
thundered  from  the  throat  of  the  Rev.  Dr 
Auld,  of  Mauchline,  or  any  of  his  condemnatory 
brethren  of  the  Evangelical  type.  From  her 
elevated  point  of  view,  unsoiled  by  the  mire 
through  which  her  correspondent  had  some- 
times dragged  his  eagle  plumes,  she  saw  clearly 
through  his  character,  and  interpreted  the  his- 
tory of  his  religious  experiences  and  moral 
aberrations,  with  that  keenness  and  sureness  of 
glance  which  belong  to  the  moral  superiority  of 
the  interpreter :  —  "  One  thing  alone  hurt  me, 
though  I  regretted  many — your  avowal  of  being 
an  enemy  to  Calvinism.  I  guessed  it  was  so  by 
some  of  your  pieces,  but  the  confirmation  of  it 
gave  me  a  shock  I  could  only  have  felt  for  one 
I  was  interested  in.  You  will  not  wonder  at 
this,  when  I  inform  you  that  I  am  a  strict 
Calvinist,  om  or  two  dark  tenets  excepted, 
which  I  never  meddle  with.  Like  many  others, 
you  are  so  either  from  never  having  examined  it 


1 86  Bnrns'  Clarhida. 

with  candour  and  impartiality,  or  from  having 
unfortunately  met  with  weak  professors  who  did 
not  understand  it,  and  hypocritical  ones  who 
made  it  a  cloak  for  their  knavery.  Both  of 
these,  I  am  aware,  abound  in  country  life ;  nor 
am  I  surprised  at  their  having  had  this  effect 
upon  your  more  enlightened  understanding.  I 
fear  your  friend,  the  captain  of  the  ship,  was  of 
no  advantage  to  you  in  this  and  many  other 
respects." 

These  earnest  appeals  and  serious  warnings  of 
the  good  lady  had  the  valuable  effect  of  drawing 
from  the  poet  his  confession  of  faith  in  a  more 
complete  form  than  we  find  it  in  any  other  part 
of  his  works.  A  Calvinist  certainly  Burns  was 
not ;  but  though,  like  all  emotional  persons, 
repelled  rather  than  attracted  by  the  dogmas  of  a 
systematic  theology,  and  though  not  infrequently 
seduced  by  his  passions  from  his  loyalty  to  his 
principles,  he  was  by  no  means  an  irreligious 
man.  .  .  .  Our  limited  space  forbids  to  enter 
more  largely  into  these  revelations  from  the 
inner  soul  of  this  man  of  large  intelligence, 
noble  aspirations,  and  ill  -  regulated  passions. 
The  more  intimate  relations  with  Mrs  M'Lehose, 
or   Clarinda,   as   she   is   poetically  called,  were 


A    Tribute.  1 87 

abruptly  broken  off  in  March,  when  the  poet 
left  the  metropolis  for  the  scene  of  his  early- 
loves  and  rustic  occupations  in  Ayrshire.  .  .  . 
In  the  month  of  February  1792,  Mrs 
M'Lehose,  after  due  consideration  of  a  pro- 
posal of  reunion  on  the  part  of  her  husband, 
set  sail  from  Leith  to  join  him  in  Jamaica  ;  but 
she  had  not  been  long  there  before,  from  the 
continued  unkindly  conduct  of  her  worthless 
mate,  partly  from  the  evil  effects  of  the  climate 
on  her  constitution,  she  was  obliged  to  return  to 
Edinburgh,  where  she  lived  and  died  at  a  ripe 
old  age,  beloved  and  respected  by  all  who  knew 
her. 


All  About  Clarinda. 

By  Robert  Ford,  Author  of  "  Thistledown,"  &c.  &c. 
{From  the  " People's  Friend") 


To  the  question,  "  Who  was  Clarinda  ?  "  there 
are  few  persons  of  mature  growth  in  Scotland 
who  would  not  glibly  answer,  "  Mrs  M'Lehose." 
And  further  to  this  the  most  elementary  and 
superficial  student  of  Scottish  poetical  literature 
could  tell  that  she  formed  a  conspicuous  figure 
among  the  dozen  or  more  women  who  at  one 
time  or  another  made  havoc  of  the  heart  of  the 
National  Poet.  The  full  and  particular  account 
of  the  sadly  chequered  and  interesting  career 
of  Clarinda,  however,  who,  according  to  Burns' 
own  written  statement,  had  "wit  and  wisdom 
more  murderously  fascinating  than  the  stiletto 
of  the  Sicilian  bandit  or  the  poisoned  arrow  of 
the  savage  African,"  is  common  knowledge  only 
to  the  curious,  who  are  the  few.  A  brief  sketch 
of  the  lady's  career,  together  with  a  bird's-eye 
review  of  the  Clarinda-Sylvander    correspond- 


All  About  Clarinda.  189 

ence,  will  therefore  not  be  unwelcome  here ;  as 
nought  can  ever  be  unwelcome  to  Scottish 
readers  which  comes  so  near  to  the  heart  of 
Robert  Burns  as  to  treat  of  one  whose  grace 
and  beauty  and  intellectual  superiority  evoked 
his  unqualified  admiration — one  who  loved  him 
with  her  whole  heart  and  soul,  and  was  the 
heroine  of  at  least  two  of  the  most  vivid  and 
tenderly  passionate  lyrics  that  came  from  his  pen. 
I  mean  "  Ae  Fond  Kiss "  and  "  My  Nannie's 
Awa' " — the  former  a  parting  song  in  which  the 
stanza  occurs — 

"  Had  we  never  loved  sae  kindly, 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  blindly, 
Never  met — or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted." 

Making  four  lines  of  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  has 
proudly  remarked,  "  They  contain  the  essence  of 
a  thousand  love  tales." 

Mrs  M'Lehose,  whose  maiden  name  was 
Agnes  Craig,  was  no  ordinary  person,  and  had 
no  ordinary  antecedents.  She  was  grandniece 
by  her  mother's  side  of  the  house  of  Colin 
M'Laurin,  the  celebrated  mathematician  and 
friend  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  ;  and  he  was  brother 
of  M'Laurin,  the  divine,  at  one  time  the  minister 


ipo  Burns'  Clarinda, 

of  Luss,  on  Lochlomondside,  and  latterly  of  St 
David's  parish  in  Glasgow,  whose  sermon, 
"  Glorying  in  the  Cross  of  Christ,"  has  been 
described  as  the  most  eloquent  in  the  English 
language.  The  daughter  of  a  Glasgow  surgeon 
named  Craig— a  gentleman  also  of  good  family, 
which  had  its  representatives  on  the  judicial 
bench  as  well  as  in  the  pulpit — she  was  born 
here  in  April  1759 — the  same  year,  be  it  noted, 
in  which  the  song-celebrated  "  blast  o'  Jan'war' 
win'  blew  han'sel  in  on  Robin" — Miss  Craig, 
when  only  eight  years  old,  had  the  misfortune 
to  lose  her  mother.  But  she  grew  and  prospered 
apace,  and  by  the  time  she  had  reached  her 
fifteenth  birthday  she  was  regarded  as  one  of 
the  beauties  of  the  western  capital,  and  had 
received  the  distinctive  and  complimentary  title 
of  "  Pretty  Miss  Nancy."  In  her  sixteenth  year 
she  was  sent  to  an  Edinburgh  boarding-school 
to  complete  her  education.  But  previous  to  this 
her  beauty  had  attracted  the  attention  of  a  Mr 
James  M'Lehose,  a  law  agent  in  Glasgow.  Up 
to  this  time  he  had  failed  to  obtain  an  introduc- 
tion to  her ;  but  on  learning  that  she  was  going 
to  Edinburgh,  he  engaged  all  the  seats  on  the 
stage-coach  except  the  one  which  he  studiously 


All  About  Clarinda.  191 

allowed  to  be  taken  for  her.  The  opportunity 
thus  secured  of  ingratiating  himself  in  the  favour 
of  the  handsome  young  damsel  Mr  M'Lehose 
took  the  utmost  pains  to  improve,  and  being  pos- 
sessed of  an  attractive  person  and  most  insinu- 
ating manners,  by  the  time  their  forty  miles' 
journey  was  completed  he  had  made  a  very 
favourable  impression  on  the  young  lady's  mind. 
On  her  return  to  Glasgow,  after  an  absence  of 
six  months,  he  resumed  his  suit,  and  pretty  Miss 
Nancy  Craig  duly  became  Mrs  M'Lehose  in 
July  1776,  being  then  little  more  than  seventeen 
years  old.  The  union  was  not  a  happy  one,  and 
when  two  children  had  been  born  to  them  a 
separation  ensued. 

"Only  a  short  time  had  elapsed,"  said  Mrs 
M'Lehose,  many  years  afterwards,  "ere  I  per- 
ceived, with  inexpressible  regret,  that  our  dis- 
positions, tempers,  and  sentiments  were  so 
totally  different  as  to  banish  all  hopes  of  happi- 
ness. Our  disagreements  rose  to  such  a  height, 
and  my  husband's  treatment  was  so  cruel,  that 
it  was  thought  advisable  by  my  friends  that  a 
separation  should  take  place,  which  accordingly 
followed  in  December  1780." 

Shortly  afterwards  the  husband,  who  seems  to 


192  Burns'  Clarinda. 

have  been  in  no  way  worthy  of  such  an  amiable 
and  attractive  wife,  sailed  for  Jamaica  in  the 
West  Indies,  where  he  held  latterly  the  post  of 
chief  clerk  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas,  and 
died  in  March  1812. 

After  the  separation,  Mrs  M'Lehose,  with  her 
two  children,  returned  to  her  father's  house, 
where  she  remained  till  his  death,  which  event 
occurred  two  years  subsequently.  She  then 
took  up  her  permanent  residence  in  Edinburgh, 
and  lived  in  comfortable  enough  circumstances 
on  the  proceeds  of  a  life  annuity  judiciously 
invested  in  her  behalf  by  her  deceased  parent. 
Here,  though  comparatively  a  stranger,  we  are 
told,  her  youth,  beauty,  and  exemplary  conduct, 
together  with  the  story  of  her  domestic  misfor- 
tunes, procured  her  many  valuable  and  interesting 
friends. 

In  the  closing  months  of  the  year  1787  the 
Scottish  capital  literally  rang  with  the  praises  of 
the  ploughman-poet.  He  was  the  local  intel- 
lectual star  of  the  period,  and  nightly  claimed 
the  admiration  of  all  admirers.  Everybody  who 
was  anybody  was  securing  an  introduction  to 
him,  and  enjoying  the  luxury  of  an  evening  in 
his  company  in  the  house  of  one  or  other  of  the 


All  About  Clarinda,  193 

literary  savants  of  the  city.  By  the  good  offices 
of  a  mutual  friend — Miss  Nimmo — it  was  ar- 
ranged that  Mrs  M'Lehose  should  meet  the 
poet.  They  accordingly  met  and  spent  an 
agreeable  evening  together,  just  as  the  poet  was 
preparing  to  leave  Edinburgh,  and  a  mutual 
esteem — perhaps  we  should  say  admiration — 
instantly  sprang  up  between  them.  A  second 
meeting  was  arranged ;  but  in  the  interval 
Burns  had  an  unlucky  fall  from  a  coach,  which 
so  bruised  one  of  his  knees  that  when  the  even- 
ing in  question  arrived  he  found  himself  unable 
to  leave  his  room.  This  circumstance  delayed 
his  departure,  and  led  to  a  correspondence — 
which  each  of  the  two  parties  began  by  signing 
the  initials  of  their  own  names  to  their  epistles — 
and,  after  the  first  few  letters  had  passed,  con- 
ducted as  between  "  Sylvander"  and  "  Clarinda," 
the  first  being  the  counterfeit  signature  of  the 
poet,  and  the  latter  that  of  his  fair  innamorata. 
How  much  Burns  was  disappointed  by  not 
being  able  to  keep  his  tryst  is  shown  by  his 
letter  of  the  8th  December,  wherein  he  wrote : 
"  I  never  met  with  a  person  in  my  life  whom  I 
more  anxiously  wished  to  meet  again  than  your- 
self. To-night  I  was  to  have  that  very  great 
N 


194  Burns*  Clarinda. 

pleasure.  I  was  intoxicated  with  the  idea,  and 
if  I  don't  see  you  again  I  shall  not  rest  in  my 
grave  for  chagrin."  Mrs  M'Lehose's  reply  on 
the  same  date  is :  "  You  shall  not  leave  town 
without  seeing  me,  if  I  should  come  along  with 
good  Miss  Nimmo,  and  call  for  you.  I  am 
determined  to  see  you."  As  soon  as  Burns  was 
sufficiently  recovered  from  his  accident  he  visited 
Clarinda  at  her  own  house,  on  Saturday,  the  19th 
January,  and  the  result  of  the  meeting  was  the 
intensification  of  their  mutual  regard  and  es- 
teem. Indeed,  it  was  now  the  utter  intoxication 
of  love  between  them,  and  the  poet  is  ready  to 
exclaim,  "  Clarinda,  first  of  your  sex !  if  ever 
I  am  the  veriest  wretch  on  earth  to  forget  you ! 
if  ever  your  lovely  image  is  effaced  from  my 
soul — 

'  May  I  be  lost,  no  eye  to  weep  my  end, 
And  find  no  earth  that's  base  enough  to  bury  me.' " 

The  awkwardness  of  their  relationship,  it  is 
fair  to  state,  was  ever  present  to  both.  Clarinda 
warns  her  admirer  again  and  again  that  he  is 
corresponding  with  a  married  woman,  and  how 
imperative  it  is  for  the  fair  reputation  of  both 
that  reason  should  govern  all  their  words  and 


All  About  Clarinda.  195 

actions ;  from  affairs  of  the  heart  she  bytimes 
endeavours  to  engage  the  poet  in  concerns  of 
the  soul,  but  they  are  both  hopelessly  entangled 
in  the  meshes  of  Love's  subtle  net,  and  only  the 
enforced  departure  of  Burns  from  Edinburgh  in 
the  middle  of  February  could  make  them  "  tear 
themselves  asunder." 

They  met  only  once  afterwards,  in  1791,  but 
occasionally  corresponded  until  within  a  short 
period  of  the  poet's  death,  which  occurred  in 
July  1796. 

Burns  has  been  blamed  by  several  of  his 
biographers  for  his  connection  with  Clarinda  in 
the  face  of  his  previous  engagement  with  Jean 
Armour,  while  others  have  contended  that  he 
was  justified  in  believing  that  his  engagement 
with  Jean  had  come  to  an  end.  All  we  know 
with  certainty  is,  that  soon  after  his  return  to 
the  country,  his  differences  with  Jean  Armour 
and  her  family  were  speedily  made  up,  and  Jean 
and  he  forthwith  became  man  and  wife.  So  far 
as  Burns  was  affected  by  it,  the  subsequent 
events  fairly  proved  that  the  Sylvander-Clarinda 
affair  was  only  for  the  moment  rapturous,  and 
once  out  of  his  sight,  Clarinda  was  soon  very 
much  out  of  his  mind.     With  the  lady,  however. 


196  Bums'  Clarinda. 

it  was  markedly  different.  She  loved  the  poet 
with  a  burning  and  imperishable  love — a  love 
which  did  not  fade  when  she  knew  of  his  mar- 
riage with  another — a  love  which  did  not  cease 
when  she  heard  of  his  death.  In  one  of  her 
warm,  beautiful,  and  undoubtedly  sincere  letters 
we  find  her  saying  :  "  Never  were  there  two  hearts 
formed  so  exactly  alike  as  ours.  Oh,  let  the 
scenes  of  Nature  remind  you  of  Clarinda !  In 
winter  remember  the  dark  shades  of  her  fate  ; 
in  summer,  the  warmth  of  her  friendship  ;  in 
autumn,  her  glowing  wishes  to  bestow  plenty  on 
all ;  and  let  spring  animate  you  with  hopes  that 
your  friend  may  yet  surmount  the  wintry  blasts 
of  life,  and  revive  to  taste  a  springtime  of  happi- 
ness. At  all  events,  Sylvander,  the  storms  of  life 
will  quickly  pass,  and  'one  unbounded  spring 
encircle  all.'  Love  there  is  not  a  crime.  I 
charge  you  to  meet  me  there.  O  God  !  I  must 
lay  down  my  pen."  In  her  private  diary,  written 
forty  years  after  the  date  of  her  last  interview 
with  the  poet,  she  has  this  entry : — "  6th  Decem- 
ber 183 1, — This  day  I  never  can  forget  Parted 
with  Robert  Burns  in  the  year  1791,  never  more 
to  meet  in  this  world.  Oh,  may  we  meet  in 
heaven  ! "      And   Robert    Chambers    says  :   "  I 


Alt  About  Clarinda.  IQ/' 

have  heard  Clarinda,  at  seventy-five,  express 
the  same  hope  to  meet  in  another  sphere  the 
one  heart  that  she  had  ever  found  herself  able 
entirely  to  sympathise  with,  but  which  had  been 
divided  from  her  by  such  pitiless  obstacles." 

Subsequent  to  Burns'  death,  editor  after 
editor  of  the  poet's  complete  works — including 
Currie  and  Cunningham — endeavoured  to  get 
hold  of  the  entire  correspondence  herein  referred 
to,  but  Mrs  M'Lehose,  long  and  oft,  with  stern 
resolution,  refused  to  deliver  up  her  replies  for 
publication.  Allan  Cunningham,  when  pre- 
paring the  last  volumes  of  his  edition  of  Burns, 
penned  the  lady  a  long  and  earnest  request,  in 
which  he  said  :  "  Without  the  letters  of  Clarinda, 
the  Works  of  Burns  will  be  incomplete.  I  wish 
to  publish  them  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighth 
volume,  with  a  short  introduction,  in  which  their 
scope  and  aim  will  be  characterised.  You  will 
oblige  me  and  delight  your  country  by  giving 
permission  for  this.  I  will  do  it  with  all  due 
tenderness.  I  have  a  high  respect  for  your 
character  and  talents,  and  wish  you  to  reflect 
that  the  world  will  in  time  have  a  full  command 
over  the  letters,  and  that  ruder  hands  than  mine 
will  likely  deal  with  them."     But  still  she  would 


198  Burns*  Clarinda. 

not  be  drawn,  and  many  years  had  to  elapse 
until  the  main  bulk  of  the  curious  and  interest- 
ing correspondence  was  laid  bare  to  the  public 
eye.  Even  now,  it  is  only  included  in  the  more 
sumptuous  and  expensive  of  the  recent  editions 
of  the  poet's  works,  and  in  no  single  instance 
with  so  full  an  account  of  Clarinda  and  her 
relationship  to  Burns  as  is  contained  in  this  brief 
paper. 

^■)  ni  Mrs  M'Lehose  died  in  1843,  having  survived 

U  ^       Burns  by  the  long  period  of  forty-five  years.    In 

-^^  \       the  poet's  time  she  lived  with  her  two  children 

\  J>  in  a  tenement-house  in  General's  Entry,  Edin- 

burgh, the  position  of  which  is  now  occupied  by 
one  of  the  public  schools  of  the  city.  It  is  due 
to  her  memory  to  state  here  that  once  at  least  in 
the  course  of  her  unfortunate  grass-widowhood 
she  evinced  an  inclination  to  rejoin  her  faithless 
husband,  and  with  this  purpose  set  sail  with  her 
children  to  Jamaica  in  the  year  1792.  On  pre- 
senting herself  there,  however,  Mr  M'Lehose 
insisted  upon  her  immediate  return,  on  the 
ground  that  the  climate  would  not  agree  with 
her,  and  she  accordingly  returned  in  the  same 
ship  that  had  taken  her  out.  Latterly  in  Edin- 
burgh she  lived  in  rather  humble  circumstances 


All  About  Clarinda.  199 

in  a  small  flat  in  a  house  in  Greenside.  In 
the  last  days  of  her  life  she  never  wearied  of 
telling  the  story  of  her  flirtation  with  Burns,  and 
when  showing  to  her  cronies  his  faded  love- 
letters,  it  has  been  said  "she  would  just  greet 
like  a  bairn." 

Poor,  loving,  charming,  trusting,  witty,  un- 
happy Clarinda !  She  loved  not  wisely,  but  too 
well. 


Clarinda. 

By  Rev.  J.  C.  HiGGlNS,  A.M.,  B.D. 


Agnes  Craig  was  come  of  good  family. 
Only  a  few  months  younger  than  Burns,  then 
twenty -eight,  she  was  clever,  cultured,  good- 
looking,  and  possessed  of  no  mean  literary  and 
poetic  gifts.  At  their  very  first  meeting  there 
sprang  up  a  strong  mutual  attraction.  To  her 
the  poet  wrote,  "  Of  all  God's  creatures  I  ever 
could  approach  in  the  beaten  way  of  friendship, 
you  struck  me  with  the  deepest,  the  strongest, 
the  most  permanent  impression,"  which  warm 
avowal  Mrs  M'Lehose  in  reply  as  warmly  re- 
ciprocated. The  evening  of  that  day  on  which 
he  was  thrown  from  the  coach  he  had  arranged 
to  spend  at  her  house ;  but  being  by  his 
accident  confined  for  a  considerable  time  to 
his  room,  he  began  those  remarkable  com- 
munications which  went  on  between  them 
(sometimes  at  but  a  few  hours'  interval)  for  over 


Clarinda.  201 

three  months.  After  a  week  or  two  they 
adopted  towards  each  other  the  fanciful  names 
Sylvander  and  Clarinda,  and  so  they  carried  on 
a  correspondence  quite  unique  in  the  history  of 
letter- writing.  We  further  gather  that  after 
he  was  able  to  move  about  again,  Burns  paid 
Clarinda  about  a  dozen  visits  before  he  left 
Edinburgh  in  the  spring  of  1788.  Mrs  M'Lehose 
lived  until  1841,  her  eighty-third  year,  thus  sur- 
viving Burns  for  forty-five  years.  After  various 
ups  and  downs  of  fortune,  she  attained  to  better 
circumstances,  and  moved  for  many  years  in 
the  best  Edinburgh  literary  and  social  circles. 
Until  her  dying  day  she  fondly  cherished  the 
memory  of  the  poet — ''that  great  genius,"  as 
she  refers  to  him  in  her  diary,  under  date 
25th  January  181 3.  Another  entry,  dated 
6th  December  1831,  was  found:  "This  day  I 
can  never  forget.  Parted  with  Burns  in  1791, 
never  more  to  meet  in  this  world.  May  we 
meet  in  heaven  ! "  Here  we  shall  only  add 
that,  after  a  careful  and  candid  study  of  this 
remarkable  episode,  we  are  able  to  believe  that, 
though  the  position  which  Burns  and  Clarinda 
took  up  towards  each  other  was,  to  say  the 
least,    a    somewhat    equivocal    and    dangerous 


202  Burns'  Clarinda. 

one,  it  passed  off  free  from  actual  moral  stain. 
Clarinda's  letters,  being  pervaded  by  an  un- 
questionably earnest  religious  tone,  drew  from 
Burns  sundry  statements  of  his  ideas  on  religion, 
of  which  we  reproduce  one  passage  in  par- 
ticular : — 

"  I  am  delighted,  charming  Clarinda,  with 
your  honest  enthusiasm  for  religion.  Those  of 
either  sex,  but  particularly  the  female,  who  are 
lukewarm  in  that  most  important  of  all  things, 
*  O  my  soul,  come  not  thou  into  their  secrets  ! ' 
I  feel  myself  deeply  interested  in  your  good 
opinion,  and  will  lay  before  you  the  outlines  of 
my  belief  He  who  is  our  Author  and  Preserver, 
and  will  one  day  be  our  Judge,  must  be  (not 
for  His  sake  in  the  way  of  duty,  but  from  the 
native  impulse  of  our  hearts)  the  object  of  our 
reverential  awe  and  grateful  adoration.  He  is 
Almighty  and  All-bounteous,  we  are  weak  and 
dependent ;  hence  prayer  and  every  other  sort 
of  devotion.  He  is  not  willing  that  any  should 
perish,  but  that  all  should  come  to  everlasting 
life ;  otherwise  He  could  not,  in  justice,  condemn 
those  who  did  not.  A  mind  pervaded,  actuated, 
and  governed  by  purity,  truth,  and  charity, 
though    it   does   not   merit   heaven,  yet   is   an 


Clarinda.  203 

absolute  necessary  pre-requisite,  without  which 
heaven  can  neither  be  obtained  nor  enjoyed  ; 
and  by  Divine  promise,  such  a  mind  shall  never 
fail  of  attaining  '  everlasting  life ' ;  hence  the 
impure,  the  deceiving,  and  the  uncharitable  ex- 
trude themselves  from  eternal  bliss  by  their 
unfitness  for  enjoying  it.  The  Supreme  Being 
has  put  the  immediate  administration  of  all 
this,  for  wise  and  good  ends  known  to  Himself, 
into  the  hands  of  Jesus  Christ — a  great  per- 
sonage, whose  relation  to  Him  we  cannot  com- 
prehend, but  whose  relation  to  us  is  a  Guide 
and  Saviour ;  and  who,  except  for  our  own 
obstinacy  and  misconduct,  will  bring  us  all, 
through  various  ways,  and  by  various  means,  to 
bliss  at  last.  These  are  my  tenets,  my  lovely 
friend,  which,  I  think,  cannot  be  well  disputed. 
My  creed  is  pretty  nearly  expressed  in  the  last 
clause  of  Jamie  Deas's  grace,  an  honest  weaver 
in  Ayrshire :  '  Lord,  grant  that  we  may  lead  a 
gude  life !  for  a  gude  life  mak's  a  gude  end  ; 
at  least  it  helps  weel ! ' " 

Side  by  side  with  his  many  rapturous  out- 
pourings to  Clarinda,  we  find  letters  containing 
perhaps  the  most  terrible  expressions  of  unrest 
and  self-upbraiding  which  even  he  ever  penned. 


204  Burns'  Clarinda. 

On  the   1 2th  of  December   he  wrote  to  Miss 
Chalmers  : — 

"  I  am  here  under  the  care  of  a  surgeon,  with 
a  bruised  limb  extended  on  a  cushion  ;  and  the 
tints  of  my  mind  vying  with  the  livid  horror 
preceding  a  midnight  thunderstorm.  A  drunken 
coachman  was  the  cause  of  the  first,  and  incom- 
parably the  lightest  evil ;  misfortune,  bodily 
constitution,  hell,  and  myself,  have  formed  a 
*  quadruple  alliance '  to  guarantee  the  other." 
Again  a  little  later  to  the  same  lady : — 
"  Now  for  that  wayward,  unfortunate  thing, 
myself.  I  have  broke  measures  with  Creech,  and 
last  week  I  wrote  him  a  frosty,  keen  letter.  He 
replied  in  terms  of  chastisement,  and  promised 
me  upon  his  honour  that  I  should  have  the 
account  on  Monday;  but  this  is  Tuesday,  and 
yet  I  have  not  heard  a  word  from  him.  God 
have  mercy  on  me !  a  poor,  damned,  incautious, 
duped,  unfortunate  fool !  The  sport,  the  miser- 
able victim  of  rebellious  pride,  hypochondriac 
imagination,  agonising  sensibility,  and  bedlam 
passions !  I  wish  that  I  were  dead,  but  I'm 
no  like  to  die !  I  had  lately  '  a  hair-breadth 
'scape  in  th'  imminent  deadly  breach'  of  love, 
too.     Thank  my  stars,  I   got   off  heart-whole, 


Clarinda.  205 

'waur  fleyed  than  hurt.'  I  have  this  moment 
got  a  hint.  I  fear  I  am  something  like  undone, 
but  I  hope  for  the  best.  Come,  stubborn  pride 
and  unshrinking  resolution,  accompany  me 
through  this,  to  me,  miserable  world !  You 
must  not  desert  me.  Your  friendship  I  think  I 
can  count  on,  though  I  should  date  my  letters 
from  a  marching  regiment.  Early  in  life,  and 
all  my  life,  I  reckoned  on  a  recruiting  drum  as 
my  forlorn  hope.  Seriously,  though,  life  presents 
me  with  but  a  melancholy  path;  but  my  limb 
will  soon  be  sound,  and  I  shall  struggle  on." 
And  on  the  21st  January  to  Mrs  Dunlop  : — 
"After  six  weeks'  confinement,  I  am  beginning 
to  walk  across  the  room.  They  have  been  six 
horrible  weeks ;  anguish  and  low  spirits  made 
me  unfit  to  read,  write,  or  think.  I  have  a 
hundred  times  wished  that  one  could  resign 
life  as  an  officer  resigns  a  commission,  for  I 
would  not  take  in  any  poor  ignorant  wretch  by 
selling  out.  Lately  I  was  a  sixpenny  private ; 
and,  God  knows,  a  miserable  soldier  enough ; 
now  I  march  to  the  campaign  a  starving  cadet : 
a  little  more  conspicuously  wretched.  I  am 
ashamed  of  all  this;  for  though  I  do  want 
bravery  for  the  welfare  of  life,  I  could  wish,  like 


2o6  Burns'  Clarinda. 

some  other  soldiers,  to  have  as  much  fortitude 
or  cunning  as  to  dissemble  or  conceal  my 
cowardice." 

A  comparison  of  these  passages  with  the 
contemporaneous  Clarinda  correspondence  once 
more  shows,  in  strong  light,  what  tumultuous 
fiery  elements  combined  to  make  up  the  great, 
impassioned  nature  of  the  Immortal  Bard — "  So 
miserably  open,"  as  he  himself  has  put  it,  "  to 
the  incursions  of  a  mischievous,  light-armed, 
well-mounted  banditti,  under  the  banners  of 
imagination,  whim,  caprice,  and  passion." 


A    Brief    Sketch. 

By  Principal  Shairp. 


Just  at  the  time  when  he  met  with  his  acci- 
dent, he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  certain 
Mrs  M'Lehose,  and  acquaintance  all  at  once 
became  a  violent  attachment  on  both  sides. 
This  lady  had  been  deserted  by  her  husband, 
who  had  gone  to  the  West  Indies,  leaving  her 
in  poverty  and  obscurity  to  bring  up  two  young 
boys  as  best  she  might.  We  are  told  that  she 
was  "  of  a  somewhat  voluptuous  style  of  beauty, 
of  lively  and  easy  manners,  of  a  poetical  fabric 
of  mind,  with  some  wit,  and  not  too  high  a 
degree  of  refinement  or  delicacy — exactly  the 
kind  of  woman  to  fascinate  Burns."  Fascinated 
he  certainly  was.  On  the  30th  of  December  he 
writes  :  "  Almighty  love  still  reigns  and  revels 
in  my  bosom,  and  I  am  at  this  moment  ready 
to  hang  myself  for  a  young  Edinburgh  widow, 
who  has  wit  and  wisdom  more  murderously  fatal 


2o8  Bums'  Clarinda. 

than  the  assassinating  stiletto  of  the  Sicih'an 
bandit,  or  the  poisoned  arrow  of  the  savage 
African."  For  several  months  his  visits  to  her 
house  were  frequent,  his  letters  unremitting. 
The  sentimental  correspondence  which  they 
began,  in  which  Burns  addresses  her  as  Clar- 
inda, assuming  to  himself  the  name  of  Syl- 
vander,  has  been  published  separately,  and 
became  notorious.  Though  this  correspond- 
ence may  contain,  as  Lockhart  says,  "  passages 
of  deep  and  noble  feeling,  which  no  one  but 
Burns  could  have  penned,"  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  it  contains  many  more  of  such  fustian,  such 
extravagant  bombast,  as  Burns  or  any  man 
beyond  twenty  might  well  have  been  ashamed 
to  write.  One  could  wish  that  for  the  poet's 
sake  this  correspondence  had  never  been  pre- 
served. It  is  so  humiliating  to  read  this  torrent 
of  falsetto  sentiment  now,  and  to  think  that  a 
man  gifted  like  Burns  should  have  poured  it 
forth.  How  far  his  feelings  towards  Clarinda 
were  sincere,  or  how  far  they  were  wrought 
up  to  amuse  his  vacancy  by  playing  at  love- 
making,  it  is  hard  to  say.  Blended  with  a 
profusion  of  forced  compliments  and  unreal 
raptures,  there  are  expressions  in  Burns'  letters 


A  Brief  Sketch.  209 

which  one  cannot  but  believe  that  he  meant  in 
earnest  at  the  moment  when  he  wrote  them. 
Clarinda,  it  would  seem,  must  have  regarded 
Burns  as  a  man  wholly  disengaged,  and  have 
looked  forward  to  the  possible  removal  of  Mr 
M'Lehose,  and  with  him  of  the  obstacle  of  a 
union  with  Burns.  How  far  he  may  have 
really  shared  the  same  hopes  it  is  impossible 
to  say.  We  only  know  that  he  used  again  and 
again  language  of  deepest  devotion,  vowing  to 
"  love  Clarinda  to  death,  through  death,  and 
for  ever." 

While  this  correspondence  between  Sylvander 
and  Clarinda  was  in  its  highest  flight  of  rapture. 
Burns  received,  in  January  or  February  1788, 
news  from  Mauchline  which  greatly  agitated 
him.  His  renewed  intercourse  with  Jean  Armour 
had  resulted  in  consequences  which  again  stirred 
her  father's  indignation ;  this  time  so  power- 
fully, that  he  turned  his  daughter  to  the  door. 
Burns  provided  a  shelter  for  her  under  the  roof 
of  a  friend ;  but  for  a  time  he  does  not  seem  to 
have  thought  of  doing  more  than  this.  Whether 
he  regarded  the  original  private  marriage  as 
entirely  dissolved,  and  looked  on  himself  as 
an  unmarried  man,  does  not  quite  appear. 
O 


^10  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Anyhow,  he  and  Clarinda,  who  knew  all  that 
had  passed  with  regard  to  Jean  Armour,  seem 
to  have  then  thought  that  enough  had  been 
done  for  the  seemingly  discarded  Mauchline 
damsel,  and  to  have  carried  on  their  corre- 
spondence as  rapturously  as  ever  for  fully 
another  six  weeks,  until  the  2ist  of  March 
(1788).  On  that  day  Sylvander  wrote  to  Clar- 
inda a  final  letter,  pledging  himself  to  everlast- 
ing love,  and  following  it  by  a  copy  of  verses 
beginning — 

"  Fair  empress  of  the  poet's  soul," 

presenting  her  at  the  same  time  with  a  pair  of 
wine  glasses  as  a  parting  gift. 

On  the  24th  of  March  he  turned  his  back 
on  Edinburgh,  and  never  returned  to  it  for 
more  than  a  day's  visit. 


Rev.  Dr  P.  Hately  Waddell's 
Views  concerning  Clarinda. 


It  was  on  the  occasion  of  his  second  visit  to 
the  capital,  and  some  eight  or  nine  months 
after  the  pubHcation  of  his  new  edition,  that  his 
introduction  took  place,  at  her  own  solicitation, 
to  Mrs  M'Lehose,  the  celebrated  Clarinda,  a 
woman  of  genius  by  inheritance,  and  of  fashion 
to  a  certain  extent  by  birth  and  education  ; 
whose  misfortunes  excited  his  sympathy,  and 
admiration  affected  his  heart ;  who  exercised 
upon  him  for  the  moment  an  exceptional  but 
seductive  power,  more  dangerous  and  discredit- 
able to  himself  than  anything  that  had  yet 
occurred.  In  the  lady  herself  there  was  frantic, 
hopeless  passion,  being  still  a  wife,  although 
practically  widowed  ;  in  Burns  there  was,  to 
say  the  least  of  it,  reprehensible  acquiescence 
and  collusion.  All  obstacles  apart,  he  might 
have    married    Clarinda,  of   similar    tastes,  of 


212  Burns'  Clarinda. 

similar  constitution,  and  of  the  same  age  with 
himself — and  would  certainly  have  repented 
afterwards  :  as  matters  then  irrevocably  stood, 
he  only  dallied  with  her  affections,  and  with  her 
own  deliberate  acquiescence  so  far  mocked  her. 
To  investigate  this  strange  and  questionable 
relationship  would  imply  an  analysis  that  must 
carry  us  far  beyond  herself;  for  the  extra- 
ordinary moral  problem  presented  to  us  by 
the  competing  claims  of  Mary  Campbell,  Jean 
Armour,  and  Mrs  M'Lehose,  for  supreme  domina- 
tion in  this  man's  soul  within  so  short  a  period, 
is  in  fact  the  mystery  that  requires  solution. 
It  is  as  a  matter  of  speculation,  however,  only, 
that  it  has  engrossing  interest  now :  for  the 
death  of  the  one,  the  repentance  of  the  other, 
and  the  impossibility  of  success  for  the  third, 
have  solved  it  as  a  matter  of  history  for  us 
long  ago.  Mary  Campbell,  with  her  own  rich 
freight  of  love  and  immortality,  in  the  sea  of 
hope,  on  the  very  poop  of  betrothal,  sank  and 
died — a  loss  that  shall  be  gazetted  for  the 
world  as  that  of  an  argosy ;  Jean,  the  survivor 
of  many  a  jeopardy  and  peril  of  her  own 
creating,  was  acknowledged  for  wife  at  Mauch- 
line,  but  with  as  little  ostentation  as  possible, 


Views  Concerning  Clarinda.  213 

having  first  had  to  brook  her  own  shame  ;  and 
Mrs  M'Lehose,  after  the  distraction  of  such  a 
desperate  venture  for  the  possession  of  such  a 
man,  had  to  console  herself  that  nothing  worse 
had  befallen  than  her  own  inevitable  disappoint- 
ment. These  are  the  matters  of  fact,  and  were 
the  final  issues  of  the  case,  with  pain,  with 
difficulty,  and  not  without  social  damage  to  the 
man  himself,  ultimately  determined ;  at  which, 
by -and -by  for  a  moment,  we  shall  hereafter 
glance.  But  now,  whilst  his  correspondence 
with  Clarinda,  newly  begun,  still  progresses, 
and  final  separation,  with  seeming  despair  on 
both  sides,  is  not  quite  inevitable,  the  cor- 
respondence itself,  so  remarkable  in  every  way, 
is  what  directly  claims  our  attention. 

That  correspondence,  the  reader  is  probably 
aware,  was  never  an  acknowledged  literary 
labour  of  Robert  Burns — was  conducted,  in  fact, 
both  by  himself  and  the  lady  under  fictitious 
names  ;  and,  for  that  reason  alone,  should  never 
have  been  intruded  on  the  world  as  theirs. 
Secrecy,  and  perhaps  a  sense  of  shame,  were 
connected  with  it.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
correspondence,  which  was  long  after  he  was  a 
married  man,  this  is  manifest — her  very  name, 


214  Burns*  Clarinda. 

according  to  his  own  explicit  declaration,  being 
still  a  mystery.  It  is  not,  however,  to  be  re- 
gretted, in  a  psychological  point  of  view,  that 
such  an  extraordinary  revelation  has  finally, 
even  with  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  some, 
been  authorised  ;  for  it  is  in  this  correspondence 
that  the  very  essence  of  his  imago  life,  burnished 
like  a  sunbeam,  but  drenched  in  aconite,  is 
really  to  be  found.  Beyond  all  mere  fictitious 
imaginary  love-correspondence  in  its  vehemence, 
being  prompted  manifestly  both  by  passion  and 
by  rivalry,  and  having  conquest  in  both  alike 
clearly  in  view,  is  this  wonderful  series  of 
epistolary  outpourings  ;  but  distinguishable  for 
ever  from  all  genuine  correspondence  of  love 
by  the  hardihood  that  flashes  through  every 
line.  Through  all  imaginable  disguises  of 
Platonism,  of  theology,  of  moral  respect,  of 
sympathy,  of  deference,  of  friendship  and  con- 
cern for  one  another,  the  fever  of  eloquent 
expostulation  and  remonstrance  and  petulant 
entreaty  rages,  till  both  man  and  woman  are 
overwhelmed  and  exhausted  with  their  own 
theme.  To  be  born  of  indubitable  frenzy  every 
hour,  and  maintained  at  its  zenith  for  months, 
within  the  limits  of  propriety  and  reason,  nay 


Views  Concerning  Clarinda.  215 

with  the  solemnest  recognitions  of  religion 
itself,  when  appeals  to  the  Deity  were  proper, 
scarcely  any  extant  correspondence  of  the  kind 
can  be  compared  with  the  letters  of  Robert 
Burns  to  this  woman  ;  and  the  secret  of  this 
is  to  be  found  unquestionably  in  the  one  source 
of  rivalry,  as  much  as  in  the  other  of  love.  His 
letters  to  other  women  on  the  same  theme, 
and  with  the  same  object  in  view,  might,  no 
doubt,  have  been  equally  eloquent  and  pas- 
sionate, if  other  women  had  been  able  to  reply  ; 
which  they  never  were,  except  with  bewildered 
silence.  It  was  Clarinda's  own  faculty  of  re- 
joinder that  stimulated  him  to  such  efforts  of 
eloquence  ;  and  his  own  love  of  victory,  con- 
joined with  his  belief  in  the  possibility  of 
dissolving  adamant  with  words,  that  carried 
him  ultimately  beyond  the  veracities  of  his 
nature  in  such  a  perilous  encounter.  Alas ! 
for  such  unlicensed  and  seductive  war.  For 
his  own  credit  and  peace  of  mind  it  should  have 
been  honestly  abandoned  when  the  inevitable 
issue  was  foreseen  ;  and  for  her  credit  it  should 
never  have  been  renewed.  But  a  man  of  his 
stamp  once  harnessed  for  competition  with  a 
woman,  and  furnished  incessantly  with  artillery 


2i6  Burns    Clarinda. 

by  her  own  hand,  was  not  likely  to  retire  from 
the  contest  whilst  a  shaft  in  the  quiver  remained. 
For  himself  it  was  disastrous,  and  for  her  sor- 
rowful. No  good  could  come  of  it.  There 
were  ominous  shadows  of  disgrace  for  him  in 
such  equivocal  sunshine,  and  mischief  for  them 
both  in  such  dread  purgatorial  kissings  of  the 
soul. 

This  absorbing,  and  it  must  again  be  ad- 
mitted, most  questionable  relationship,  seems  to 
date  from  the  beginning  of  December  1787 — 
from  the  hour  of  their  first  introduction,  in  fact  ; 
and  may  be  traced  by  correspondence,  with 
some  slight  interruptions  and  gradual  diminu- 
tion of  enthusiasm  on  his  part,  till  1793  ;  dis- 
tinctly marked  at  its  conclusion  with  anger, 
recrimination,  and  passionate  regret.  During 
the  whole  of  the  latter  period  misunderstanding 
prevails,  for  which  the  lady  herself  was  un- 
questionably to  blame  ;  and  the  correspondence 
of  these  years,  apparently  renewed  by  herself 
also,  seems  to  be  little  more  than  a  series  of 
hopeless  and  fatiguing  attempts  to  readjust  a 
balance  of  respect  for  ever  dislocated.  But  on 
a  review  of  the  whole,  the  difficulty  to  which 
we   formerly   adverted   returns    again — namely, 


Views  Concerning  Clarinda.  217 

how  to  explain  the  mystery  of  a  threefold  love 
during  so  long  a  period  in  one  man's  soul  ; 
for  that  Mary  and  Jean,  the  one  in  heaven 
and  the  other  on  earth,  were  still  there  is  in- 
disputable ;  and  that  Clarinda  was  there  too, 
although  with  weakened  sway,  cannot  be  denied. 
The  most  exquisite  lyrics  to  each  of  these  three 
women  are  all  to  be  found  within  this  period — 
not  fictitious  poetry,  but  genuine  effusions  of 
the  heart.  All  lower  self-indulgence,  disastrous 
and  sorrowful,  in  which  he  sometimes  com- 
promised his  own  dignity  for  the  delight  of 
others,  we  omit  to  account  for  here :  this 
alone — this  triple  waltzing  of  the  soul,  purely 
spiritual  with  one  among  the  clouds  ;  honest 
and  affectionate  with  another  on  the  cottage 
floor ;  questionable,  but  real,  with  a  third 
through  the  post-office — with  holy  memories, 
with  living  love,  with  half-guilty  fiction  in  the 
name  of  love — was  indeed  the  great  enigma 
of  his  life,  and  altogether  inexplicable  on  any 
ordinary  psychological  principles.  Could  there 
be  any  serious  delinquency,  any  practical  moral 
disloyalty  here?  Difficult  it  would  be  to  be- 
lieve this  ;  still  more  difficult  with  some  not 
to   believe   it — for  sin   will    be  imputed   by  a 


2i8  Burns'  Clarinda. 

few,  where  there  is  no  sin,  who  cannot  imagine 
such  amorous  extravagance  as  a  normal  con- 
dition of  the  soul.  Be  it  so ;  then  David, 
Solomon,  Sappho,  and  Petrarch  were  all  in 
similar  condemnation.  He  goes  along  with 
these  in  the  biographies  of  the  world,  and 
was  not  unconscious  of  his  own  resemblance 
to  the  greatest  of  them  during  these  very 
hours. 


A  Visit  to  Clarinda. 

{From  "  Old  and  New  Edinburgh") 


General's  Entry  is,  perhaps,  now  most  in- 
timately associated  with  one  of  Burns'  heroines, 
Mrs  M'Lehose,  the  romantic  Clarinda  of  the 
notorious  correspondence,  in  which  the  poet 
figured  as  Sylvander.  He  was  introduced  to 
her  in  the  house  of  a  Miss  Nimmo,  on  the 
first  floor  of  an  old  tenement  on  the  north 
side  of  Alison  Square.  A  little  parlour,  a 
bedroom,  and  kitchen,  according  to  Chambers, 
constituted  the  accommodation  of  Mrs  Agnes 
M'Lehose,  "  now  the  residence  of  two,  if  not 
three,  families  in  the  extreme  of  humble  life." 
In  December  1787,  Burns  met  at  a  tea  party 
this  lady,  then  a  married  woman  of  great 
beauty,  about  his  own  age,  and  who,  with  her 
two  children,  had  been  deserted  by  a  worthless 
husband.  She  had  wit,  could  use  her  pen 
had    read    "  Werther "    and    his    sorrows,    was 


220  Burns*  Clarinda. 

sociable  and  flirty,  and  possessed  a  voluptuous 
loveliness,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  silhouette 
of  her  in  Scott  Douglas's  edition  of  the  poet's 
works.  She  and  Burns  took  a  fancy  to  each 
other  on  the  instant.  She  invited  him  to  tea, 
but  he  offered  a  visit  instead.  An  accident 
confined  him  for  about  a  month  to  his  room, 
and  this  led  to  the  famous  Clarinda  and 
Sylvander  correspondence.  At  about  the  fifth 
or  sixth  exchange  of  their  letters  she  wrote : 
It  is  really  curious,  so  much  fun  passing 
between  two  persons  who  saw  each  other  only 
once."  During  the  few  months  of  his  fascina- 
tion for  this  fair  one  in  General's  Entry,  Burns 
showed  more  of  his  real  self,  perhaps,  than  can 
be  traced  in  other  parts  of  his  published  cor- 
respondence. In  his  first  letter  to  her  after 
his  marriage,  he  says,  in  reply  to  her  senti- 
mental reproaches :  "  When  you  call  over  the 
scenes  that  have  passed  between  us,  you  will 
survey  the  conduct  of  an  honest  man  struggling 
successfully  with  temptations  the  most  power- 
ful that  ever  beset  humanity,  and  preserving 
untainted  honour  in  situations  where  the 
severest  virtue  would  have  forgiven  a  fall." 
But    had    Clarinda    been    less    accessible,   she 


A    Visit  to  Clarinda.  221 

might  have  discovered  eventually  that  much 
of  the  poet's  warmth  was  fanciful  and  melo- 
dramatic. From  their  correspondence  it  would 
appear  that  she  was  in  expectation  of  Burns 
visiting  her  again  in  Alison  Square  in  1788. 
She  was  the  cousin-german  of  Lord  Craig, 
who,  at  his  death  in  York  Place  in  181 3,  left 
her  an  annuity,  and  thirty  years  after  still 
found  her  living  in  Edinburgh.  "  She  is  now 
nearly  eighty  years  of  age,  but  enjoys  excellent 
health,"  says  Kay's  editor  in  February  1837. 
"  We  found  her  sitting  in  the  parlour,  with 
some  papers  on  the  table.  Her  appearance  at 
first  betrayed  a  little  of  that  languor  and 
apathy  which  attend  age  and  solitude ;  but 
the  moment  she  comprehended  the  object  of 
our  visit,  her  countenance — which  even  yet  re- 
tains the  lineaments  of  what  Clarinda  may  be 
supposed  to  have  been — became  animated  and 
intelligent.  '  That,'  said  she,  rising  up,  and 
pointing  to  an  engraving  over  the  mantelpiece, 
'  is  a  likeness  of  my  relative  (Lord  Craig), 
about  whom  you  have  been  inquiring.  He 
was  the  best  friend  I  ever  had.'  After  a  little 
conversation  about  his  lordship,  she  directed 
our  attention  to  a  picture  of  Burns  by  Hors- 


222  Burns'  Clarinda. 

burgh,  after  Taylor.  '  You  will  know  who  that 
is ;  it  was  presented  to  me  by  Constable  & 
Co.,  for  having  simply  declared  what  I  know 
to  be  true — that  the  likeness  was  good.'  We 
spoke  of  the  correspondence  between  the  poet 
and  Clarinda,  at  which  she  smiled,  and  plea- 
santly remarked  on  the  great  change  which 
lapse  of  so  many  years  had  produced  in  her 
personal  appearance.  Indeed,  any  observation 
respecting  Burns  seemed  to  afford  her  pleasure. 
Having  prolonged  our  intrusion  to  the  limits 
of  courtesy,  and  conversed  on  various  topics, 
we  took  leave  of  the  Venerable  lady,  highly 
gratified  by  the  interview.  To  see  and  talk 
with  one  whose  name  is  so  indissolubly  as- 
sociated with  the  fame  of  Burns,  and  whose 
talents  and  virtues  were  so  much  esteemed  by 
the  bard — who  has  now  (in  1837)  been  sleep- 
ing the  sleep  of  death  for  upwards  of  forty 
years  —  may  well  give  rise  to  feelings  of  no 
ordinary  description.  In  youth  Clarinda  must 
have  been  about  the  middle  size.  'Burns,'  she 
said,  '  if  living,  would  have  been  about  her 
own  age,  probably  a  few  months  older.'  " 


Clarinda  in  Old  Age. 


When  Burns  revisited  Edinburgh  in  1787-88 
he  lodged  with  William  Cruikshank,  a  teacher 
of  the  High  School,  in  a  house  on  the  south- 
west corner  of  St  James  Square,  in  the  New 
Town,  and  his  was  the  topmost  or  attic  window 
in  the  gable  looking  towards  the  General  Post- 
Office  in  Waterloo  Place.  Herefrom  Burns 
wrote :  "  I  am  certain  I  saw  you,  Clarinda ; 
but  you  don't  look  to  the  proper  story  for  a 
poet's  lodgings — *  where  speculation  roosted 
near  the  sky.'  I  could  almost  have  thrown 
myself  over  for  very  vexation.  Why  don't 
you  look  higher?  It  has  spoiled  my  peace  for 
the  day.  To  be  so  near  my  charming  Clarinda 
— to  miss  her  look  when  it  was  searching  for 
me !  .  .  .  I  am  sure  the  soul  is  capable  of 
disease,  for  mine  has  convulsed  itself  into  an 
inflammatory  fever." 

The  window  of  Burns  was  pointed  out  to  an 
enthusiastic  pilgrim,  one  summer  morning  in 
1889,  by  an  old  resident  of  St  James  Square,  to 
whom  Clarinda  had  pointed  it  out  herself.     He 


224  Burns'  Clarinda. 

remembered  Clarinda  (Mrs  M'Lehose)  in  her 
old  age,  when  she  lived  beneath  his  own  father 
in  a  small  flat  at  Greenside  upon  an  insignificant 
annuity  allowed  her  by  her  brother.  She  went 
once  to  her  husband  in  Jamaica,  but  she  did  not 
leave  the  ship,  as  Mr  M'Lehose  insisted  upon 
her  immediate  return  on  the  ground  that  the 
climate  would  not  agree  with  her.  She  was  in 
very  poor  circumstances  during  her  later  years, 
but  never  wearied  of  telling  the  story  of  her 
flirtation  with  Burns.  As  the  aged  residenter 
remarked  :  "  The  auld  donnert  leddy  body 
spoke  o'  her  love  for  the  poet  jist  like  a  bit 
hellicat  lassie  in  her  teens,  and  while  exhibitin' 
to  her  cronies  the  faded  letters  from  her  Robbie 
she  would  just  greet  like  a  bairn.  Puir  auld 
creature,  she  never  till  the  moment  o'  her  death 
jaloused  or  dooted  Robbie's  professed  love  for 
her ;  but,  sir,  you  ken  he  was  just  makin'  a  fule 
o'  her,  as  his  letters  amply  show." 

Mrs  M'Lehose,  deserted  by  her  husband,  lived 
in  Burns'  time  with  two  young  children  in 
General's  Entry,  which  lay  between  the  Potter- 
row  and  Bristo  Street ;  but  no  houses  dating 
back  to  Clarinda's  day  stand  within  a  stone's- 
throw  of  Clarinda's  flat. 


The  Original  Portrait  of  Clarinda. 


The  portrait  of  Clarinda,  which  Mr  W.  G. 
Roy,  S.S.C,  handed  round  for  inspection  at  one 
of  the  Edinburgh  Burns  Club  dinners,  was  the 
original  picture  which  was  specially  drawn  by 
the  celebrated  silhouettist,  Miers,  for  Burns,  and 
which  was  in  the  poet's  possession  at  the  time 
of  his  death.  It  latterly  belonged  to  the  late 
Mr  James  Gibson  Craig,  and  was  sold  at  the 
sale  of  his  effects.  It  is  now  the  property  of 
Mr  William  Campbell  of  Camm.o,  and  he  has 
consented  to  its  being  preserved  in  the  National 
Portrait  Gallery,  where  it  will  be  deposited 
through  the  Royal  Scottish  Academy.  The 
presentation  will  take  place  shortly.  The 
picture,  which  is  in  beautiful  preservation,  is 
very  faithfully  reproduced  in  Paterson's  six- 
volume  edition  of  the  poet's  works,  edited  by 
the  late  Mr  Scott  Douglas.  The  following  are 
the  letters  which  passed  between  Clarinda  and 
the  poet  on  the  subject  of  the  portrait  :— 
P 


226  Bums'  Clarinda. 

Thursday  Noon,  February  7,  1788. 
"  I    shall    go   to-morrow   forenoon    to    Miers 
alone.    What  size  do  you  want  it  about?    O 
Sylvander,  if  you  wish  my  peace,  let  friendship 
be  the  word  between  us.     I  tremble  at  more." 

Thursday  Night,  February  7,  1788. 
"  I  thank  you  for  going  to  Miers.  Urge  him, 
for  necessity  calls,  to  have  it  done  by  the  middle 
of  next  week.  Wednesday  the  latest  day.  I 
want  it  for  a  breast-pin  to  wear  next  my  heart. 
I  propose  to  keep  sacred  set  times  to  wander  in 
the  woods  and  wilds  for  meditation  on  you. 
Then,  and  only  then,  your  lovely  image  shall  be 
produced  to  the  day,  with  a  reverence  akin  to 
devotion." 


Clarinda  and  Sylvander. 

By  Alexander  Smith. 


This  lady,  who  was  possessed  of  no  common 
beauty  and  intelligence,  had  been  deserted  by 
her  husband,  and  was  bringing  up  her  children 
in  somewhat  narrow  circumstances.  They  met 
at  tea  in  the  house  of  a  common  friend,  and 
were  pleased  with  each  other's  conversation. 
The  second  night  after  Burns  was  to  have 
drunk  tea  by  invitation  at  the  house  of  Mrs 
M'Lehose,  but  having  been  upset  the  previous 
evening  by  a  drunken  coachman,  and  brought 
home  with  a  knee  severely  bruised,  he  was 
obliged  to  forego  that  pleasure.  He  wrote  the 
lady,  giving  the  details  of  the  accident,  and  ex- 
pressing regret  that  he  was  unable  to  leave  his 
room.  The  lady,  who  was  of  a  temperament 
generous  and  impulsive,  replied  at  once,  giving 
utterance  to  her  regret,  and  making  Burns  a 
formal  proffer  of  her  sympathy  and  friendship. 


228  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Burns  was  enraptured,  and  returned  an  answer 
after  the  following  fashion  :  "  I  stretch  a  point, 
indeed,  my  dearest  Madam,  when  I  answer  your 
card  on  the  rack  of  my  present  agony.  Your 
friendship.  Madam  !  By  heavens !  I  was  never 
proud  before.  ...  I  swear  solemnly  (in  all  the 
terror  of  my  former  oath)  to  remember  you  in 
all  the  pride  and  warmth  of  friendship  until — I 
cease  to  be!  To-morrow,  and  every  day  till  I 
see  you,  you  shall  hear  from  me.  Farewell ! 
May  you  enjoy  a  better  night's  repose  than  I 
am  likely  to  have."  The  correspondence  so 
rapturously  opened,  proceeded  quite  as  raptur- 
ously. It  was  arranged  that  in  the  future  Burns 
should  sign  himself  Sylvander^  and  the  lady 
Clarinda.  Each  day  gave  rise  to  its  epistle. 
Poems  were  interchanged.  Sighs  were  wafted 
from  St  James  Square  to  the  Potterrow. 
Clarinda  was  a  "  gloriously  amiable,  fine 
woman,"  and  Sylvander  was  her  "devoted 
slave."  Clarinda  chid  Sylvander  tenderly  for 
the  warmth  of  his  expressions.  Sylvander  was 
thrown  into  despair  by  the  rebuke,  but  pro- 
tested that  he  was  not  to  blame.  Who  could 
behold  her  superior  charms,  her  fine  intelligence, 
and  not  love?     Who  could  love  and  be  silent? 


Clarinda  and  Sylvander.  229 

Clarinda  had  strong  Calvinistic  leanings,  and 
Sylvander,  who  could  not  pardon  these  things 
in  Ayrshire  clergymen,  and  was  accustomed  to 
call  them  by  quite  other  names,  was  "  delighted 
by  her  honest  enthusiasm  for  religion."  Clarinda 
was  to  be  passing  on  a  certain  day  through  the 
Square  in  which  Sylvander  lived,  and  promised 
to  favour  him  with  a  nod  should  she  be  so 
fortunate  as  to  see  him  at  his  window,  and 
wrote  sorrowing,  the  day  after,  that  she  had 
been  unable  to  discover  his  window.  Sylvander 
was  inconsolable.  Not  able  to  discover  his 
window !  He  could  almost  have  thrown  him- 
self over  it  for  very  vexation.  His  peace  is 
spoiled  for  the  day.  He  is  sure  the  soul  is 
capable  of  disease,  for  his  has  convulsed  itself 
into  an  inflammatory  fever,  and  so  on.  During 
this  period  of  letter  writing.  Burns  and  Mrs 
M'Lehose  had  met  several  times  in  her  own 
house,  and  on  these  occasions  he  had  oppor- 
tunities of  making  her  aware  of  his  dismal 
prospects.  The  results  of  his  renewed  inter- 
course with  Jean  on  his  return  to  Ayrshire 
were  now  becoming  apparent.  This  was  com- 
municated to  her  along  with  other  matters,  and 
Mrs   M'Lehose   was    all    forgiveness,   tempered 


230  Burns'  Clarinda. 

with  rebuke,  and  a  desire  for  a  more  Calvinistic 
way  of  thinking  on  his  part  on  religious  subjects. 
That  the  affection  of  Burns  for  the  lady  was 
rooted  in  anything  deeper  than  fancy,  and  a 
natural  delight  in  intelligence  and  a  pleasing 
manner,  may  be  doubted.  His  Clarinda  letters 
are  artificial,  and  one  suspects  the  rhetorician  in 
the  swelling  sentences  and  the  exaggerated  senti- 
ment. With  regard  to  Mrs  M'Lehose  there  can 
be  no  mistake.  Her  letters  are  far  superior 
to  Burns',  being  simple,  natural,  and  with  a 
pathetic  cadence  in  some  portions  which  has 
not  yet  lost  the  power  to  affect.  She  loved 
Burns,  and  hoped,  if  he  would  but  wait  till 
existing  ties  were  broken,  to  be  united  to  him. 
But  Burns  could  not  wait,  the  correspondence 
drooped,  and  a  year  saw  all  passion 

"  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day  " — 

the  common  day  of  Jean  Armour,  Ellisland, 
and  the  Excise. 


How  I  Lost  the  Opportunity  of 
Meeting  Burns'  Clarinda. 

By  Thomas  C.  Latto. 


One  balmy  afternoon  in  1841  I  was  sauntering 
along  the  western  slope  of  Calton  Hill,  Edin- 
burgh, with  my  old  friend  Captain  Charles  Gray, 
lately  retired  from  an  active  service  of  six  and 
thirty  years  in  the  Royal  Marine  Corps,  a  poet 
himself,  and  one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirers of  Robert  Burns  that  the  Ayrshire 
ploughman  ever  had.  The  Captain,  in  his 
somewhat  halting  manner,  for  he  had  an  im- 
pediment in  his  speech  like  Charles  Lamb  and 
Leigh  Hunt,  was  never  tired  of  discussing 
Robbie  and  his  songs.  Indeed,  they  formed 
the  warp  and  woof  of  his  conversation.  Every- 
thing connected  with  Burns  was  grist  to  his  mill. 

At  that  moment  a  lean,  thin-cheeked,  sallow- 
faced  man  passed  us.  "  Ha ! "  said  the  Captain, 
"  a  Yankee  I'll  be  bound.  There  are  unco  few 
Scotsmen  of  that  type." 


232  Burns'  Clarinda. 

"  Correctly  diagnosed,  Captain,"  was  my  reply ; 
"a  genuine  down-easter  beyond  question,  but 
you  can  never  guess  who  he  is.  Why,  that  is 
a  grandson  of  Burns'  Clarinda,  bearing  the  same 
name  too,  M'Lehose.  He  has  been  in  town 
some  months  trying  to  get  some  business 
settled  in  the  Court  of  Session.  I  see  him  in 
the  Parliament  House  nearly  every  day." 

"  Indeed,"  rejoined  my  friend,  "  that  is  some- 
what strange.  I  was  just  about  to  touch  on 
that  very  subject.  Do  you  see  that  white- 
gabled  house  in  the  Low  Calton,  glittering  in 
the  sunlight  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  I  had  observed  it." 

"Well,  within  that  house  lives  the  far-famed 
Clarinda  herself.  I  visited  her  last  week,  and 
found  her  lively  as  ever,  still  worshipping  the 
great  poet's  memory,  and  by  no  means  dis- 
inclined to  joke  on  the  superlative  devotion 
evinced  towards  herself  in  days  of  yore  by  the 
impassioned  Sylvander.  I  have  met  her  several 
times  at  the  house  of  Robert  Chambers,  where 
she  kept  up  the  liveliest  of  talk  with  David 
Vedder,  the  host,  and  myself,  and  was  quite 
the  belle  of  the  party." 

"  But  she  must  be  much  changed,"  I  remarked. 


Lost  Opportunity  of  Meeting  Clarinda.    233 

"  since  the  days  when  she  proved  so  formidable 
a  rival  to  Jeanie  Armour." 

"  Oh !  that  of  course.  The  features  are  now 
somewhat  harsh  and  haggard,  very  different 
from  the  rather  attractive  silhouette  hanging  in 
her  little  parlour.  I  cannot  promise  that  you 
would  discern  in  her  now  any  traces  of  her  once 
remarkable  grace  and  beauty,  but  her  interesting 
talk  would  be  ample  compensation  for  loss  of 
personal  charm." 

"  How  I  wish  that  I  could  see  her,"  was  my 
eager  reply. 

"  Nothing  more  easy.  To-morrow,  or  say 
Saturday  evening,  if  that  would  suit  you 
better,"  said  the  Captain  ;  "  and  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted to  accompany  and  introduce  you.  She 
knows  something  of  you  already,  and  will  be 
pleased  to  have  a  chat  with  you." 

But  that  Saturday's  interview  was  fated  never 
to  come  off.  There  are  so  many  slips  between 
the  cup  and  the  lip  in  this  uncertain  world,  and 
one  must  not  count  on  many  opportunities  of 
meeting  when  the  party  to  be  interviewed  is 
turned  of  ninety. 

On  Friday  I  read  in  the  newspapers  the 
announcement  of  her  death. 


234  Burns'  Clarinda. 

A  week  or  two  afterwards  I  attended  with  the 
Captain  a  sale  in  Hanover  Street,  at  the  Auction 
Mart  of  C.  B.  Tait  &  Co.,  where  the  precious 
letters  of  Sylvander  to  Clarinda,  preserved  by 
her  with  loving  care  for  half  a  century,  were,  by 
order  of  the  grandson,  her  heir,  disposed  of  to 
the  highest  bidder.  To  me  it  seemed  like 
desecration  to  stand  and  witness  these  inflated 
effusions  of  genius  at  its  worst,  enriched,  how- 
ever, with  various  verses  that  had  years  ago 
"taken  arles  of  immortality,"  dispersed  in  so 
summary  a  style.  "  Ae  Fond  Kiss  and  then 
we  Sever,"  "  My  Nanny  O,"  Agnes  M'Lehose 
being  the  heroine  of  both  lyrics,  "  The  Queen  o' 
Scots  in  Prison,"  going,  going,  gone  for  the  few 
shillings  that  they  would  fetch.  Alas  for  the 
poor  widow's  love-letters ! 

It  may  scarcely  be  worth  while  remarking 
that  the  casket  in  which  the  poor  old  lady  had 
for  so  many  years  locked  up  these  jealously 
guarded  literary  treasures  was  an  oblong  box 
about  the  length  and  depth  of  a  fiddle-case, 
rounded  on  top,  covered  completely  with  a 
cheap,  clay-coloured  wall-paper,  such  as  servant 
girls  were  wont  to  use  in  packing  up  their  odds 
and   ends   when   at   Martinmas    term    contem- 


Lost  Opportunity  of  Meeting  Clarinda.    235 

plating  migration  from  one  farm  -  house  to 
another.  Such  a  "  kist "  as  the  sweet  and 
guileless  damsel  portrayed  by  Willie  Laidlaw 
in  his  delicious,  imperishable  song,  "  Lucy's 
Flittin',"  represents  as  the  receptacle  in  which 
the  fair  lassie  rowed  up  her  claes,  not  forgetting 
the  bonnie  blue  ribbon  that  Jamie  had  given 
her  for  a  keepsake  and  pledge  of  unchanging 
affection. 

Some  years  after  the  worthy  Captain's 
lamented  death  I  scribbled  off  the  following 
doggerel  sonnet,  which  recently  turned  up  in 
overhauling  my  memorabilia. 

BURNS'  CLARINDA. 

As  on  the  western  slope  of  Calton  Hill 

Old  Captain  Gray  and  I  had  climbed  the  stair, 

"  See  ! "  said  the  veteran,  "  yon  white  cottage  ;  there 

Clarinda,  liurns's  goddess,  lingers  still ; 

Still  is  she  proud  of  that  long-vanished  time, 

When  the  great  bard  would  to  her  bower  repair, 

Fleech  for  a  kiss  from  lips  so  ripe  and  rare. 

And  read  her  samples  of  his  new-made  rhyme." 

"  Oh,  could  I  see  her  !  "  was  my  muttered  thought. 

"  Why,  yes,  my  boy — in  very  deed  you  may  ; 

She'll  like  it ;  for  she  smiled  o'er  what  you  wrote  : 

To-morrow  morning,  or,  say  Saturday." 

But  many  a  slip  I've  found  this  one  beside  ; 

We  never  met — on  Friday  eve  she  died. 


Burns  and  Clarinda. 

By  the  Rev.  Arthur  John  Lockhart. 


I. 

She  was  sae  bricht,  she  was  sae  fair, 

She  was  of  a'  the  warl'  sae  dear, 
How  could  I  choose  but  linger  there, 

Wi'  tranced  e'e,  an'  charmed  ear ! 
This  is  luve's  morning-tide  o'  bliss, 

Wi'  mony  a  meeting,  heart  to  heart ; 
But,  oh !  luve's  anguish,  it  is  this — 

To  kiss  ance  mair,  an'  then  depart ! 

She  was  sae  bricht,  she  was  sae  braw, 

Wi'  sic  a  grace  her  charms  she  bore. 
How  could  I  bear  to  turn  awa' 

An'  look  upon  her  face  nae  more  ! 
Ah,  we,  wha  did  sae  blindly  luve ! 

Felt  we  nae  madness  in  the  thrill  ? 
Our  dream  is  o'er, — yet,  while  we  wove 

The  flowery  band,  we  dream'd  nae  ill. 


Burns  and  Clarinda.  237 

She  was  sae  bricht,  she  was  sae  fair ! 

Now  she  ayont  the  sea  is  gane, 
How  can  I  seek  the  banks  of  Ayr, 

An'  dwell  wi'  musin'  thocht  alane  ! 
What  solitude  in  ilka  street ! 

How  gloomy  seems  each  ancient  pile, 
Since  fortune  yields  me  not  the  licht, 

The  gladness,  o'  her  perfect  smile ! 

She  was  sae  bricht,  she  was  sae  fair ! 

Ah,  how  will  haunted  Doon  appear, 
When  simmer  sweetens  a'  the  air. 

An'  a'  her  birds  are  singin'  clear  ? 
There  must  I  sit  me  doun  to  sigh. 

As  bitter  memory  comes  again. 
While  the  heart's  ghaists  gae  flittin'  by, 

An'  a'  the  past  is  changed  to  pain. 

She  was  sae  bricht,  she  was  sae  fair ! 

Her  kiss  was  sweeter  than  the  wine : 
Now  spare,  ye  win's,  thou  ocean,  spare, 

The  lovely  form  I  dreamed  was  mine, 
'Neath  ither  stars,  on  ither  shores. 

When  she  has  crossed  the  ragin'  sea, 
Ah,  will  the  ane  my  soul  adores 

Gie  whiles  a  passin'  thocht  to  me  ? 


238  Burns*  Clarinda. 

She  was  sae  bricht,  she  was  sae  fair, 

And,  oh,  we  lo'ed  each  ither  weel ! 
My  easy  heart  I'll  blame  nae  mair, 

To  lo'e  her  not  it  wad  be  steel. 
Dear  city  o'  my  early  fame, 

An'  my  ill-fated  luve,  adieu  ! 
I  seek  the  fields  whence  erst  I  came. 

To  toil,  an'  weep,  an'  dream  o'  you. 


II. 

Ah,  must  we  sever? 

Ah,  must  we  sever, 

Dearest,  for  ever. 
After  the  days  we  together  have  known  ? 

Yet,  let  me  yet  bless  thee, 

Clasp  and  caress  thee, 
Ere  thou  wilt  leave  me  to  sorrow  alone  ! 

Soft  be  thy  pillow, 

Far  on  the  billow  ; 
Bright  be  thy  dreams  while  thou  speedest  away! 

Every  wave  charm  thee, 

Never  one  harm  thee. 
Cause  thee  commotion,  or  work  thee  delay. 


Burns  and  Clarinda,  239 

Others  shall  greet  thee, 

Claim  and  entreat  thee, 
Yield  thee  affection,  and  make  thee  a  home  : 

Thou  may'st  not  ponder, 

Hearts  truer  and  fonder, 
When  dreams  of  the  past  o'er  thy  spirit  may  come. 

Ah  !  should  aught  grieve  thee. 

Wrong  thee,  deceive  thee, 
When  we  asunder  for  ever  are  torn, 

Think  of  me,  parted. 

Sunk,  and  sad-hearted, — 
Oh,  but  thou  knowest  how  deeply  I  mourn  ! 

Let  one  thought  move  thee, — 

Still  do  I  love  thee ! 
Think  me  not  cold  who  am  only  distress'd  : 

Come,  if  aught  harm  thee. 

Shake  or  alarm  thee, — 
Fly  like  a  bird  to  this  sheltering  breast  1 

Yet,  why  this  yearning 

For  thy  returning 
Back  to  my  arms,  from  that  southern  shore ! 

Passion  beseeches, 

While  my  heart  teaches 
That  I,  who  have  loved,  shall  behold  thee  no 
more. 


240  Burtts'  Clarinda. 

I  have  aspired, 

Dared  and  desired, — 
I  have  not  striven  for  laurels  in  vain : 

Song  Cometh,  welling 

From  my  heart,  telling 
All  the  sweet  tale  of  our  passionate  pain. 

I  took  Scotia's  lyre 

And  lifted  it  higher  ; 
Thou  art  its  theme,  and  its  glory  shalt  see. 

Past  is  its  prime,  now, 

Brief  is  its  time,  now, — 
Hush'd  its  wild  music  for  ever  will  be. 

Here  must  we  sever, 

Now,  and  for  ever ! 
Sweet  are  the  joys  we  together  have  known  ; 

But,  with  the  morrow, 

All  shall  be  sorrow. 
Thou  wilt  be  absent,  and  I  shall  be  gone. 


The  Poet's  Immortal  Wreath  for 
Clarinda. 


Sylvander's  Reply  to  Clarinda. 

When  dear  Clarinda,  matchless  fair, 
First  struck  Sylvander's  raptured  view, 

He  gazed,  he  listened  to  despair, 
Alas  !  'twas  all  he  dared  to  do. 

Love,  from  Clarinda's  heavenly  eyes. 
Transfixed  his  bosom  thro'  and  thro' ; 

But  still  in  Friendship's  guarded  guise, 
For  more  the  demon  feared  to  do. 

That  heart,  already  more  than  lost, 
The  imp  beleaguer'd  all  perdue  ; 

For  frowning  Honour  kept  his  post. 
To  meet  that  frown  he  shrunk  to  do. 

His  pangs  the  Bard  refused  to  own, 
Tho'  half  he  wished  Clarinda  knew  ; 

But  Anguish  wrung  th'  unweeting  groan — 
Who  blames  what  frantic  Pain  must  do  ? 
Q 


^42  Burns'  Clarinda. 

That  heart,  where  mostly  follies  blend, 
Was  sternly  still  to  Honour  true  : 

To  prove  Clarinda's  fondest  friend 
Was  what  a  lover  sure  might  do. 

The  Muse  his  ready  quill  employed, 
No  dearer  bliss  he  could  pursue  ; 

That  bliss  Clarinda  cold  denied, — 

"  Send  word  by  Charles  how  you  do  !  " 

The  chill  behest  disarmed  his  Muse, 
Till  Passion  all  impatient  grew  : 

He  wrote,  and  hinted  for  excuse, 
"  'Twas  'cause  he'd  nothing  else  to  do." 

But  by  those  hopes  I  have  above  ! 

And  by  those  faults  I  dearly  rue  ! 
The  deed,  the  boldest  mark  of  love — 

For  thee  that  deed  I  dare  to  do  ! 

O  could  the  Fates  but  name  the  price 

Would  bless  me  with  your  charms  and  you ! 

With  frantic  joy  I'd  pay  it  thrice, 
If  human  art  and  power  could  do  ! 

Then  take,  Clarinda,  friendship's  hand, 
(Friendship,  at  least,  I  may  avow  ;) 

And  lay  no  more  your  chill  command, 
I'll  write,  whatever  I've  to  do. 


The  Poefs  Immortal  Wreath.  243 

To  Clarinda, 
With  a  Present  of  a  Pair  of  Drinking  Glasses, 
Fair  Empress  of  the  Poet's  soul, 

And  Queen  of  Poetesses  ; 
Clarinda,  take  this  little  boon, 
This  humble  pair  of  glasses  ! 

And  fill  them  high  with  generous  juice, 

As  generous  as  your  mind ; 
And  pledge  me  in  the  generous  toast — 

"  The  whole  of  human  kind  !  " 

"  To  those  who  love  us  ! " — second  fill  ; 

But  not  to  those  whom  we  love  ; 
Lest  we  love  those  who  love  not  us  ! — 

A  third — "  To  thee  and  me,  love  !  " 

Clarinda. 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul. 

The  measur'd  time  is  run  ! 
The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  Pole, 

So  marks  his  latest  sun. 

To  what  dark  cave  of  frozen  night 

Shall  poor  Sylvander  hie  ? 
Depriv'd  of  thee,  his  life  and  light, 

The  sun  of  all  his  joy. 


244  Burns'  Clarinda. 

We  part, — but  by  these  precious  drops 
That  fill  thy  lovely  eyes  ! 

No  other  light  shall  guide  my  steps 
Till  thy  bright  beams  arise. 

She,  the  fair  sun  of  all  her  sex, 
Has  blest  my  glorious  day  ; 

And  shall  a  glimmering  planet  fix 
My  worship  to  its  ray  ? 

To  Clarinda. 

Before  I  saw  Clarinda's  face 
My  heart  was  blythe  and  gay. 

Free  as  the  wind,  or  feathcr'd  race 
That  hop  from  spray  to  spray. 

But  now  dejected  I  appear, 

Clarinda  proves  unkind  ; 
I,  sighing,  drop  the  silent  tear. 

But  no  relief  can  find. 

In  plaintive  notes  my  tale  rehearses 
When  I  the  fair  have  found  ; 

On  every  tree  appear  my  verses 
That  to  her  praise  resound. 

But  she,  ungrateful,  shuns  my  sight. 
My  faithful  love  disdains, 


The  Poet's  Immortal  Wreath.  245 

My  vows  and  tears  her  scorn  excite, 
Another  happy  reigns. 

Ah,  though  my  looks  betray, 

I  envy  your  success, 
Yet  love  to  friendship  shall  give  way — 

I  cannot  wish  it  less. 


"I  Burn,  I  Burn." 

"  I  BURN,  I  burn,  as  when  thro'  ripen'd  corn 
By  driving  winds  the  crackling  flames  are  borne," 
Now  maddening,  wild,  I  curse  that  fatal  night ; 
Now  bless  the  hour  which  charm'd  my  guilty 

sight. 
In  vain  the  laws  their  feeble  force  oppose  : 
Chain'd  at  his  feet  they  groan,  Love's  vanquish'd 

foes  : 
In  vain  religion  meets  my  sinking  eye  ; 
I  dare  not  combat — but  I  turn  and  fly  ; 
Conscience  in  vain  upbraids  th'  unhallow'd  fire  ; 
Love  grasps  his  scorpions — stifled  they  expire  ! 
Reason  drops  headlong  from  his  sacred  throne, 
Your  dear  idea  reigns  and  reigns  alone  : 
Each  thought  intoxicated  homage  yields, 
And  riots  wanton  in  forbidden  fields  ! 


246  Burns'  Clarinda. 

By  all  on  high  adoring  mortals  know  ! 

By  all  the  conscious  villain  fears  below ! 

By  your  dear  self ! — the  last  great  oath  I  swear  ; 

Nor  life  nor  soul  were  ever  half  so  dear  ! 


Ae  Fond  Kiss. 

Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever  ; 
Ae  fareweel,  and  then  for  ever  ! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I'll  pledge  thee, 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I'll  wage  thee. 
Who  shall  say  that  fortune  grieves  him, 
While  the  Star  of  Hope  she  leaves  him  ? 
Me,  nae  cheerfu'  twinkle  lights  me  ; 
Dark  despair  around  benights  me. 

I'll  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy, 
Naething  could  resist  my  Nancy  ; 
And  to  see  her,  was  to  love  her  ; 
Love  but  her,  and  love  for  ever. 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  kindly, 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  blindly, 
Never  met  or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted. 

Fare  thee  weel,  thou  first  and  fairest ! 
Fare  thee  weel,  thou  best  and  dearest ! 


The  Poet^s  Immortal  Wreath.  247 

Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 

Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure  ! 

Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever, 

Ae  fareweel,  alas  !  for  ever  ! 

Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I'll  pledge  thee. 

Warring  sighs  and  groans  I'll  wage  thee. 


The  Dearest  o'  the  Quorum. 

O  May,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  so  sweet 
As  the  mirk  night  o'  December, 

For  sparkling  was  the  rosy  wine, 
And  private  was  the  chamber  : 

And  dear  was  she  I  darena  name, 
But  I  will  aye  remember. 
And  dear,  &c. 

And  here's  to  them  that,  like  oursel', 
Can  push  about  the  jorum, 

And  here's  to  them  that  wish  us  weel. 
May  a'  that's  guid  watch  o'er  them  ; 

And  here's  to  them  we  darena  tell. 
The  dearest  of  the  quorum. 
And  here's  to,  &c. 


248  Burns*  Clarinda. 

Gloomy  December. 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December ! 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee  wi'  sorrow  and  care  ; 
Sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  me  remember, 

Parting  wi'  Nancy,  oh,  ne'er  to  meet  mair  ! 
Fond  lovers*  parting  is  sweet  painful  pleasure, 

Hope  beaming  mild  on  the  soft  parting  hour  ; 
But  the  dire  feeling,  oh,  farewell  for  ever  ! 

Is  anguish  unmingled  and  agony  pure. 

Wild  as  the  winter  now  tearing  the  forest. 

Till  the  last  leaf  o'  the  summer  is  flown  ; 
Such  is  the  tempest  has  shaken  my  bosom. 

Since  my  last  hope  and  last  comfort  is  gone. 
Still  as  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December, 

Still  shall  I  hail  thee  wi'  sorrow  and  care  ; 
For   sad  was   the  parting  thou  makes  me  re- 
member,— 

Parting  wi'  Nancy,  oh,  ne'er  to  meet  mair  ! 

My  Nannie's  Awa'. 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  Nature  arrays. 
An'   listens   the   lambkins   that   bleat  o'er  the 

braes, 
While  birds  warble  welcome  in  ilka  green  shaw  ; 
But  to  me  it's  delightless — my  Nannie's  awa'. 


The  Poefs  Immortal  Wreath.  249 

The    snaw-drap    an'   primrose    our   woodlands 

adorn, 
An'  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the  morn  ; 
They   pain   my   sad   bosom,   sae   sweetly  they 

blaw, 
They  mind  me  o'  Nannie — an'  Nannie's  awa'. 

Thou  lav'rock  that  springs  frae  the  dews  of  the 

lawn. 
The  shepherd  to  warn  o*  the  gray-breaking  dawn, 
An'  thou  mellow  mavis  that  hails  the  night-fa', 
Give  over  for  pity — my  Nannie's  awa'. 

Come,  autumn,  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  an'  gray. 
An'  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  nature's  decay  ; 
The  dark,  dreary  winter,  an'  wild-driving  snaw, 
Alane  can  delight  me — now  Nannie's  awa'. 

My  Lovely  Nancy. 

Thine  am  I,  my  faithful  fair. 

Thine,  my  lovely  Nancy  ; 
Every  pulse  along  my  veins, 

Every  roving  fancy. 

To  thy  bosom  lay  my  heart, 
There  to  throb  and  languish  : 

Though  despair  had  wrung  its  core. 
That  would  heal  its  anguish. 
R 


250  Burns'  Clarinda. 

Take  away  those  rosy  lips, 
Rich  with  balmy  treasure  : 

Turn  away  thine  eyes  of  love, 
Lest  I  die  with  pleasure. 

What  is  life  when  wanting  love  ? 

Night  without  a  morning  : 
Love's  the  cloudless  summer  sun, 

Nature  gay  adorning. 


Printed  at  Tub  Darien  Press,  Edinburghi 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


•-'5)/i-io,'iic-'iai) 


PR 
4332 
R73 
1897 


